Pamela's Vengeance: A Poisonous Pursuit 2
by GronHatchat
Summary: This is a sequel to my Batman and Robin Ivy based story, "Pamela Isley: A Poisonous Pursuit." An obsessed maniac who idolized Poison Ivy had vowed to continue her work of destroying the human race, and she is more of a threat and far more out of control than Pamela was. She had taken on the name of Poison Ivy for herself, and is leaving a string of gruesome murders in honor of Ivy.
1. Chapter 1

When the knock on the door came at three in the morning, Charles Matthews could never have guessed that answering it would be the worst mistake of his life. Now he had answered many doors in his time. Packages came in the mail frequently for him, for he was an avid sword collector, and purchased many fine blades from many cultures around the world. Friends would visit all the time. He was a very popular guy, a real computer wizard when it came to the world of hacking and writing viruses. He planned on joining the Pentagon someday. Doors were a small matter. Doors were…innocent. Even at three in the morning, the knock on the door did not put the suddenly awakened Charlie into shock. After all, he had been visited before at this hour. Actually, lately, more so than usual. At least fifteen times in the last seven months had he been awaken in the dead of night by a police officer. It was always a different patrolman or patrolwoman, but they were always asking the same question: _Do you know anything relating to the murders that took place in this neighborhood?_ The murders in this general area had been strange. Eight cases, in fact. All poisonings, too. Men and women and children found dead with organic poisoning, toxins most foul polluting their veins. He had even known a couple of them. Persia Thompson and her husband Max had been family friends for years, and had even attended his college graduation as participants to the family row.

The poisonings had always made him on edge, of course. Over a year ago, a terrorist had been imprisoned at a psychiatric institution up north in Gotham. A woman calling herself "Poison Ivy." Now, the stories had been all over Bludhaven's news. **Estimated death toll connected to Pamela "Poison Ivy" Isley surpass fifty… Terrorist "Poison Ivy" sentenced to seventeen consecutive life-terms… Families across Gotham help construct monument in fallen victims of "Poison Ivy"… **The gorgeous redheaded woman would often fill the screen during these reports. Pictures from a ball she had attended, from her arrest, from her trial… A plant-obsessed maniac, she had indeed murdered countless souls… Charlie was beyond happy to know that such a monster was behind bars forever. No matter how good she looked, she deserved death like no other. But now….

_But now there are poisonings going on here!_ he remembered thinking. Gotham investigators had actually driven down to Bludhaven after the third victim was found. Indeed, it had seemed almost _identical_ to the Poison Ivy murders in Gotham. According to the news, the poison found within the victims' bodies was not hemotoxin, as had been the case with Isley, but rather arsenic. The strange thing was that the poison had been ingested in a variety of different ways: sometimes orally, sometimes via injection, obviously by syringe, according to official reports. Heavy trauma to the head was also a common pattern, which suggested the killer would beat down the victim before poisoning them to death. Charlie had been awoken so many nights from police banging on peoples' doors, the sirens of the police cars… and then, probably the greatest wake-up of all had been the roaring of the engines. The entire neighborhood had gotten out for that one. The roaring engines of fire and powerful technology, belonging to that of a great black jet. And out of the jet had come the legend himself. Batman, the protector of Gotham whose face was completely unknown, had come to Bludhaven to investigate these murders, tipped off of a possible connection to Isley. Charlie could still remember to this day the Dark Knight. Tall, menacing, shrouded in black and dressed like a giant bat. Insane….but empowering. He had stayed in the neighborhood a whole of half an hour before leaping into his advanced jet and shooting away into the night. Apparently, he had failed to really do anything. The murders continued.

_Damn… if even Batman can't handle it… but he caught Ivy! Surely he can help us Bludhavenites out with this! _But maybe Gotham just mattered more to the Dark Knight. So much so that Bludhaven had to deal with its own problems. Panic in the streets continued. Children were not allowed to play outside. No one exercised anymore. Even with increased patrols, somehow, the murders would still continue. This dreary little neighborhood of Yeazii suburb was going to go straight to Hell…

So with all this, it came as no surprise when the knock on the door shook him out of his slumber upon the couch. The house was dark, and cold. His heart broke at once. _Another one… damn it, another one…. I'm getting the hell out of this neighborhood the first chance I get! _He begrudgingly jumped up from the couch and made his way sleepily towards the kitchen, where the door was. At this time of the morning, his vision lacked for the worse (had had not bothered to grab his glasses), and his head pounded fiercely. The tea before bed had done little to help him with his headaches. He had been watching his girlfriend's daughter for the majority of the past day, and the little tyke had been quite a handful. Still, the kid was growing on him. She was a hyper pain… but she still _his_ future hyper pain. She would be his introduction to fatherhood, once he and Shannon married. He glanced up briefly as he passed Shannon's picture in the kitchen hall, a wonderful scene as she held little Anna in her arms in a grass meadow.

He reached the door. Sure enough, through the thin silk curtain, he could see the flashing red and blue lights. _Damn it… will this never end!_ Trying not to imagine who had been murdered this time, he pulled the door open. Pulled it open to his death.

The moment the door swung back, something else swung forward. The hammer cracked hard against his cranium and he fell into a heap upon the floor. His scream was lost as daziness and blackness blinded him. Sounds vibrated throughout the air. His world shattered into thousands of pieces. Everything in his head seemed to melt into mush, and the floor suddenly seemed so much colder.

"Oops…" The voice came from a thousand miles away. It was at the end of the longest tunnel on Earth, vibrating with echoes through the dark sludge of sewer that polluted his ears. He stared with wide, blind eyes at the floor, the pain so intense. He was incapacitated, and his brain had not shut him out of it yet. _Trick trick trick _fell his blood upon the floor. "Sorry! I didn't mean to hit you so hard! I hope you're not dead." The voice belonged to a young woman, and it rose and feel with each word, as if she were quickly moving across the room, away from the door with its deceptive flashing lights. He heard a door slam, somewhere in the world. He felt hands on his feet. Felt himself being drug across the floor… and a soft _click_. The kitchen light being turned off. Slowly, his vision began to bring the light back. Dimly did sight return to him, but the pain did not go away. He could almost scream…

Whoever was dragging him stopped and left him lying there, face-down against the dirty tile. Footsteps.

"This your girl? She's ugly. I don't like her… I don't like her all. Stupid mammal…worthless mammal…" Shattering glass. He actually felt the pieces rain down upon the back of his neck. Snowflakes of torment, raindrops of death. A ripping sound. A picture being ripped in two….being ripped in fours…being shredded to tens… They snowed down upon him too. The woman, whoever she was, giggled. "Much better. I should be on that wall, Charlie. I should be on that wall… How dare you put _Shannon _all over your nice wood…"

She was dragging him again. His vision was becoming clearer and clearer. The world was returning to him. He could make out individual colors. Could define shapes for what they were. The woman had now drug him into the carpeted living room.

"Nice pants… nice shirt, too, what's that…. Oh, it's Beatles… I don't like the Beatles. They're too…old-fashioned, is that word…? I don't know… who does, though, right? I mean, you probably would know all about old-fashioned, I mean….look at _Shannon_…"

His vision returned in full. Amplified was the pain in his throbbing head. He looked about, dazed and weak. Someone was sitting on his squashy armchair. The first thing he saw a bare foot, the nails of the toes painted two different colors; one foot was dark green, the other scarlet. He weakly craned his neck. Blood fell down his face as he did. Tight green pants, like something a ballerina wore. The stopped a few inches above her ankles. Thin in weight. Gloved hands, rubbery and dark green, but each fingertip painted crimson. The woman wore a very tight, constricting, forest green shirt, its sleeves long. And then he saw her face…

She had painted her lips pale green. Did they even sell a lipstick like that locally? Around her green eyes she wore small, circular décor that bore pointed ends, like leaves. Her hair was vibrant red, though he could tell it was a dye job: flecks of blonde poked through here and there. This woman was blonde, naturally. She raised one gloved hand, kissing the air in his general direction.

"Hi there," she said in a soft voice, smiling with pursed lips.

Charlie's heart shattered again. He had seen this before, plastered all over the news… _Oh my God… please, no… no…. not another one… not me!_ He tried to open his mouth, but could not draw in the strength. The blow to his head had done him something fierce. She giggled.

"No need to try to talk, lover." Her voice sounded almost like a passionate sigh. She opened her mouth wide with each word, showing pearly white teeth. He saw her now fingering something resting on her lap. A vibrant green bag, medium-sized for carry convenience. She began to fiddle around inside of it. "I don't need your words… only your adoration."

He saw what she pulled out of the bag. A large syringe… and a two vials. In one vial was a pile of white powdery substance, with a small label that read **Ketamine**. In the other vial, a murky, dark green liquid swirled about. The woman eyed the green vial for a long second, a distant expression upon her face, and then her tongue came out full as she licked at the glass. She followed it with a strange, almost sexual moaning.

"That's dessert," she told him, noticing him looking. "This," she continued, holding up the Ketamine, "is dinner." She shook the bottle enthusiastically. "It's a special little date-rape drug. But you might know that already, I'm not sure." She uncorked the vial of Ketamine and fell onto the floor, crawling towards him. He tried to summon the strength to move, adrenaline kicking in at once, but she reached him before he could do anything. Her fist came down against his forehead and he was dazed, disoriented and agonized as pain overtook him. This time, he did scream, as loudly as he could, the fire of it and the desperation to get help too much for him. Unfortunately, screaming proved his undoing. The Ketamine went down his throat as she tipped the vial over, and as he began to choke on it, she forced her gloved hand down upon his mouth, holding it shut. It tasted bitter on his tongue, and seemed to bubble like some sort of acidic horror. At once his muscles seized up. He felt numbness spread down his gums and into his throat. His eyes widened in horror as heat overcame him, and he struggled for breath. Everything part of his nervous system was shocked, and seemed to be shutting down.

She sighed with joy, looking beyond content, and tossed the empty vial aside. She gently rolled him over, onto his back, and climbed atop him, sitting cow-girl style and pressing her gloves firmly against his chest. Her face was distant in expression. Askew, and vacant. Her sight was a million miles away, her lips slightly parted.

"Allow me to introduce myself, love… My name….is Poison Ivy." She grinned, throwing her arms out above her head. His vision was going blurry. All about him, the air was vibrating. He began to hear distant sounds that came from nowhere and yet everywhere. Were they screams? Were they cries? Everything was disoriented. "I am the true Poison Ivy," she continued. "Poison Ivy full realized. I have Ascended in place of the goddess. Abigail Robinson… they used to call me that. The mammals still do… and I kill them when they do… because I'm not Abigail Robinson… you know that, right?" She looked at him pleadingly, looking distressed that he may dare accuse her of being Abigail Robinson. His mouth hung open, drool falling out. He was a million miles away. She sighed, frustrated. "You too… always, they all…just… ugh!" She slapped him. He did not react, even when the red mark began to form on his left cheek. "None of you ever listen! None of you ever care, do you!? I _chose_ you, Charlie, baby. I _chose_ you. Watched you for months! Wondered what kind of guy you _really_ were… she would come over, too. I saw her all the time, her and the little shit…" She bowed her head, looking heartbroken. "But… I never gave up on you. Never. For months I watched you… because I loved you… I _do_ love you!" She quickly hissed this, as if fearful he would doubt it. The vegetable remained still. She pressed her gloved fingers against his lips. "Oh, shush, now, it's okay… Ivy's here; your Poison Ivy will not abandon you."

She kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love you," she whispered, fiddling with the button on his pajama pants. "I really love you… watched you for months…" She looked about the room, her eyes dazed as much as his were, the most dreamy, distant expression highlighting her features. "Stood in the garden. Stood on the backporch, staring through the window…. Wondering when I would summon the courage to tell you the truth. That's why I left all those presents. The cat I disemboweled… you didn't realize it meant I would _kill_ for you!?" She seethed with rage, hating the traitor. He did not care about her…must not care at all… "The message was _clear_! Or the beheaded dog!? You threw its body away…. as if it meant nothing! It symbolized the fact that I would cut the heads off anyone who dared to come near you. You're so…perfect." She had given his _thing_ its air, and was cupping it in her heads, stroking it with two fingers. She was Poison Ivy… it was her calling to make things grow… "Why did you toss that box of chocolates in the trash? I bought them for you! I had a few, but that didn't mean they were spoiled!" She jerked viciously at _it_. Wanted to tear it off and shove it down his throat. Might do it… might do it… It was getting so _big_ now. It was growing. And why should it not!? She was Mother Nature! She was Poison Ivy! Had to make it grow! Had to, had to! The hammer lay on the floor at her side. She could take it now and bash his brains in…needed to…wanted to…

When his _thing_ was to her liking in size and strength, she began the rape slowly. Her tights were easy to pull off, and she quickly did so, leaving her bottom half naked and bare. She tossed the tights over his face, obscuring it from view. This was of contentment. The blonde vulva hairs that did not match the hair on her head glistened under the ceiling fan light, calling out to her next victim. _Feed us_… She fed them, forcing it into her as she sat back down on top of him. She closed her eyes, immense satisfaction overcoming her body and mind. Finally, after all these months… months of planning the right time. The other murders had merely been her secret messages to you, letting her know that she was coming. She, his lover. She, who loved him most. She, who had met him under a different name. Shannon had been what she had chosen. Her blonde hair, the hair of the past, had suited well to the identity. The young daughter? Young Anna once belonged to a couple who lived in the Deatson neighborhood of Bludhaven… she'd had now been missing for a year. Not that her parents minded. The police had found their mutilated bodies. The child was believed to be dead. "Shannon", of course, had had to doctor the little girl up. A dye job, a forced contact lens pair, until the easily swayed kidnap victim resembled the blonde, beautiful "Shannon" to a T. The little girl was young and stupid. She had been easy to manipulate, and trick into thinking that "Mommy had changed her look and Daddy had gone a long vacation to Candyland." When "Shannon" had met Charlie at the fitness center, love had blossomed at first meeting. She found herself unable to stop thinking about him, and how kind he had been. How he had _smiled_ at her. _Her_, goddess of the Earth. When she had met Charlie, she had decided to stop living in her car. She had needed a home for Charlie to visit. A murder later and a nice old couple in Charlie's neighborhood had been "vacated." She and an ignorant Anna had eaten the "evidence."

"Shannon" and Charlie had hit it off fast, their relationship growing rather quickly. There was just something so…irresistible to Charlie about "Shannon…" She almost seemed to be able to take control of your senses, of your mind… And so it had come as a great shock that their engagement had been announced only three weeks into dating. Charlie loved Shannon… Charlie was obsessed with Shannon…

And now, Shannon had finally chosen the moment to act on her heart's desire, to express her full love to Charlie. To claim his body, and make it hers. She wanted it this way, needed it this way. Needed to dominate…to hurt him… Anna was no longer a concern. She had stabbed the girl to death in the car. Even now, her body lay there in the backseat, waiting for Mommy to finish business with Daddy. After months of waiting, the child's murder had been utter joy for "Shannon." After tonight, she would move on… she would look for new love. She would leave Charlie in his home. She would dispose of Anna's body… well, Anna and the policeman she had murdered in order to obtain his car. She had quite a way over men… she was quite poisonous, one could say.

"Shannon's dead," the woman truly named Abigail Robinson sighed, thrusting against him in her savage rape. She threw her tights from his face and kissed him passionately, moaning loudly, thrusting more and more savagely. He was powerless. He was defenseless. He was hers. She was goddess over him, and he had no prayer, no hope, no chance! For minutes and minutes, the heavily sedated Charlie could only come the tiniest shred near to comprehending his dire situation. It was only when she dug her fingers into his eye sockets that he could fathom the concept of pain. Torment was the word, and his suffering was beyond measure. As she raped him, she took from him his eyes, rolling them across the living room floor with her bloodstained gloves. She could only imagine the electrical-like agony it put him through. It was everything she had imagined for months concerning this special moment with the man she loved. She had planned every detail of the consummation of their feelings for each other. First his skull. Then his eyes. Last his life.

"I love you, Charlie," she whispered, licking his cheeks, her eyes closed to intense sexual satisfaction as she came to a climax, biting her green lips to the point where she drew blood. She had to sign her name! Must sign her name! Holding one gloved hand up, she clicked her right wrist upward. A small, silver blade shot out of the hidden mechanism in the glove. She laughed madly at the sight of it, feeling nothing but love and desire for Charlie as she began to carve her nine letter name into his chest, cutting deep with each one: **POISON IVY**. Several satisfying, arousing moments flew by as he bled with each letter, to be forever marked with the name of the woman who cared so much for him… who needed him more badly than any other human! Than any _mammal_ could ever need. She did not _hate_ mammals. Indeed, she loved them. She would not make the same mistakes that the original goddess had made… no, no… no, she _knew_ that mammals were needed. Now she knew. When she had first set out on her quest of ascension, she had been ignorant, and thought it silly that mammals could even dare to draw breath. Now, after an entire year of killing, an entire year of making art decorating the planet with bodies, she knew that mammals were the key to her pleasures, to her very wishes. Without mammals, she was no goddess because she had no one to rule over. Plants were goddesses and gods as well, and she could not rule over a god or goddess. It was the mammals that were needed as servants.

"There we go," she whispered, finishing her carving and setting the blade back into its hidden nook. She finally took rest, breathing so hard, powerfully overcome with emotion and joy. She had finally done it. She had finally had him. She licked the blood that flowed from his cuts. _His_ blood! The blood of the man she loved! She hugged with genuine love, with genuine adoration. "Thank you so much… I love you, Charlie…"

And now, without removing his thing from her body, she took the vial of green substance. He must pass from this life now. She must destroy the fixation, severe her ties to the man so that she could find love again, and repeat the ritual. Charlie at this point was losing consciousness. He was barely hanging on. Anna's face kept running through his mind, as did Shannon's… how he longed for them both. How he needed them both! Could he shed tears? Could he show any kind of emotion?

She never gave him the chance. She poured the whole vial down his throat, and watched with a grueling satisfaction as the deadly poison claimed his life. The hemotoxin she only reserved for the _truly_ worthy. It was arsenic for most of the rest. The hemotoxin was special. It came from the _original_ goddess! One of her first quests during her journey of Ascension had been a pilgrimage to Gotham City. Finding obituaries from previous issues of the _Gotham Gazette_ had been easy. Local libraries stockpiled them annually. Finding the graveyards had not been all that difficult. Neither had digging up the bodies in the dead of night. Victims of the original goddess… victims of the original Poison Ivy. The hemotoxin, the very venom from her lips, had still coursed through their decaying veins! Luckily, Abigail Robinson had brought her syringes with her. A few samples had been enough. For good measure, she had stolen one of the more heavily poisoned victims, a man who was beyond human recognition, and kept him for good measure, preserving him so that she may harvest more. Getting the poison to a lab to be synthesized and replicated had also been easy. She had contacts at the Bludhaven Sciences Institution, where she had originally gone to school, and these contacts were easily seduced into allowing her access to the chemistry labs. Pheromones did wonders, as had the studies Abigail had put into her daily schedule to theorize just how Isley had extracted the plant particles needed to produce to vaporized pheromones… It had taken months to set it altogether!

The poison she had stockpiled for well over a year, replicating day in and day out, belonged in Charlie's veins! In this way, Abigail and Mother Nature could be one of the same entity. She had promised the goddess that she would continue her work… even if Abigail had realized how wrong the goddess had been about mammals. This costume, this hair dye, everything about her was there to honor the goddess. And one of these days, she was going to pay the goddess a visit. She was locked away in that terrible place, that monstrous Arkham… she belonged out here, with Abigail. Together, they could destroy so many lives, and Abigail could teach her the truth about mammals. How to free Mother Nature? How to free her?

Charlie made only the faintest guttural sounds but died quickly, his veins turning green and putrid. Abigail climaxed only one more time, aroused by his dying in the middle of intercourse, and she planted one last kiss upon his dead lips, closing them when she was finished.

"Good-bye, my love," she whispered to him, taking her wristblade out for one last moment and severing a long strand of hair from his head. She fondled the hair under her nose as she stood up, and proceeded to dress her lower half once more. It felt good to be back in full costume once more. Back into Poison Ivy. She had freed him. Freed him, freed him, freed him, yes, yes she had, she had she had she had she had… over and over again, it the same words: _I have I have I have I have_… She was rubbing her hands together over and over, seemingly unaware of doing so, as if wiping years of blood away. Blood that could not be seen. Just like Lady Macbeth. She clasped her gloved hands together, drawing in her face like a frog as she bowed her head and placed her chin against her chest, staring forward blankly. She wanted to kill again already. Three in one night…could there be a forth? Or should she wait? It could be amazing to get out of this neighborhood now. She had left the police lights running. Even now, there could be onlookers outside, or even approaching the car. She had dillied. She had dallied.

Sweeping up her bag, she made one last trip in the house. Charlie's main bedroom looked like it belonged to a high school student. The dark blue bedspread was _Star Wars_ themed, the cabinets adorned with Lego spaceships and little Warhammer figurines. Charlie had a desk, upon which he had blueprints of computer systems, codes for a new virus he had been working on… and a tall, deep mason jar, in which was stored a mountain of cash. At least $700, according to his boasts the week earlier. She had asked him about his funds so that she would know how much she would have once she offed him. She grabbed the whole jar with a massive grin on her face and blew a kiss around the room, stepping out into the hall once more. "Shannon" had never brought him down upon that bed. She had told him that she wanted to save herself for marriage… and tonight had been her marriage. They had become one body, one essence. Nothing could ever have separated them…

She stood over his body for a final time, her feet pressing down on one of his removed eyes. It felt squishy between her toes… She popped her neck, dreamily wondering if she would ever find true love again…

"Charlie, I think we should see other people…" Her voice was distant again, her expression vacant once more. She turned slowly. Very slowly. And slowly did she walk away, stiff as a board, stepping out into the night and slamming the door shut behind her. No one had come to investigate the police car. They must all asleep and dreaming good dreams tonight. Slowly did Abigail clamber into the car, shutting the lights off and looking around into the backseat. Little Anna's body rested gently against the young police officer. They both could have been sleeping peacefully, in a cute position… that is, if Anna was not covered in multiple stab wounds… and if the policeman did not sport bulgy veins filled with the deadliest hemotoxin.

"Don't mind if I turn on the radio, do you?" she asked them, wondering if they would object. Anna raised her head and nodded.

"It's okay, mommy, go ahead," she smiled through a mouthful of blood. The police officer opened his eyes for a moment and nodded as well.

"E-oo on urn it on…" he replied to her through a mouthful of poison.

Abigail grinned. "Thank you." She turned her head away from the bodies that had not actually moved at all (not that she knew this), and turned the radio on full blast. The classical station was her favorite. Violins worked their magic tonight, accompanied by their friends, the Eastern wooden flutes. She stared dead ahead, feeling nothing as she drove away from Charlie's home, with no one but her company of dead to listen to her plans.

"I'm heading for Gotham," she told them. "I have more than $900 now in cash, thanks to Charlie. I have more than enough to get to Gotham and find myself a place to stay… more than enough to begin the next quest." She looked around at them. "Charlie was a quest… wasn't he, little Anna? You helped me so much. You helped me lure him in. Thank you, Anna… that's why I rewarded you. I released your spirit to Mother Earth. Your body will make excellent compost. The Earth will flourish with your contribution. The same goes for you, Officer. You live to serve and protect… Serve Mother Nature. Protect her future. Let your body give her life."

She chuckled, gripping the steering wheel so tightly. She drove for little over half an hour, out into the country fields that swept by the Hudson. Gotham was a fifty-three mile drive from Bludhaven. It would take little over an hour to get there. But first, the bodies….

The field was a fabulous grassland. She had taken a picture here, with little Anna. That picture she had smashed after bringing down Charlie. Shanna had no right to claim Charlie. He belonged to Abigail…or had… Shanna wanted him all to herself, though! The bitch! She wanted to take over this body… but Shanna had lost…. Ivy had won. Abigail…Ivy… flourished where Shanna could not. Stupid Shanna…worthless Shanna…

_"You need to be nice," _Shanna said. _"I don't appreciate hate."_

"Shut up!" Abigail snapped, leaping out of the car and falling into the grass. It felt so alive underhand, so welcoming to Mother Nature. It took her a little bit to haul the bodies out of the car. The young officer, though thin, wore hidden armor under his uniform. She pulled him out by the legs and drug him some way across the field. Then, she retrieved Anna and threw her body onto the officer's. The shovel was in the trunk. The work took over an hour. Far longer that she had wanted it to. A few cars passed by on the country highway beyond her car, but none of them slowed to inquire about anything. No one cared about anything at this hour of the morning. By the time she had dug a hole deep enough to house them both, she was sweating up a storm, out of breath and ragged. She stabbed the shovel down into the officer's belly, impaling him so as to keep her balance. She wanted to fall over. Bury herself with them. Live within the dirty earth. Maybe some day… and maybe she'd drag a victim down to join her… She finally managed to push the corpses into the hole, and with a sigh of relief and a massive grin, she filled the hole back up, the dirt eating away at the two victims. Earth would forget them. Mother Nature would eat them. All was well.

Finishing her job, she stood atop their grave and trampled about in a circle for a few minutes, imaging their anger. She had developed a habit of this quite a bit. Trampling and sometimes even dancing naked upon the graves of her victims at night, the dirt staining her feet with a pleasurable sensation. Desecration, the goddess had taught her on television, was an essential rule of life. She would always live by the goddess's example. She had a recording of the broadcast...the broadcast that had nearly torn a city in two.

Her quest was simple now. She would go to Gotham. She would travel to the institute of Arkham. And she would free the goddess. The sacrifices she had made throughout the year had been done in the name of the goddess, and thus the souls, she knew, had been sent directly _to_ the goddess, to feed her. She was saving the goddess by feeding her. Without sacrifices, the goddess would suffer.

Ten minutes later she was speeding down the road again, now utterly alone. Except for Shanna. Shannah was still there, whispering to her.

_What makes you think you can free the goddess?_ she asked.

Abigail seethed. The goddess Poison Ivy _would_ be free! Her greatest servant, aye her most avid fan, would see to it. The demoness would be free! The demoness _must_ be free!

"I _am_ Poison Ivy," she sighed to herself aloud, kissing her gloves. She fondled her own lips. They were not poisonous. Not yet. She had not yet found the secret to making her lips poisonous. But oh how she wanted to. She wanted the Kiss of Death. How erotic it would be! How empowering! She would equal to the goddess, then! A poisonous kiss…. It was a dream worth killing for. The goddess would know. She would tell Abigail her secrets. She did, however, have the goddess's venom. Lots of vials of the stuff, extracted from the corpses of the goddess's victims. She would experiment on herself, then. Find out how to bond the poison to her own biological lips. She wanted to kill someone with a kiss. She wanted to seduce them, make them feel like she truly loved them, and then see the horror as her kiss destroyed them from the inside out. In the meantime, she would continue her work on creating a lipgloss that would work just as well. She had not yet figured out the secret of ensuring that she would not be endangered by her own weapon. Hell, just to see someone get badly sick from her kiss was enough for now. She wanted to make them vomit, make them gag and wretch. She wanted to be _disgusting_!

Just thinking about it made her sweat. She needed a distraction, otherwise she may very well have to stop for another murder. As much as she wanted to, she had to get to Gotham before sunrise! She flicked on the radio again. A radio show was currently on now, and a special report from the Gotham area was being broadcast.

"…was, less than 48 hours ago, found innocent by reason of insanity. Jones has been transferred to the Karrington Institution for Boys, until his 21st birthday, where he will be transferred to a secure isolation in Arkham. Jones will not be given the death penalty for the murders, but is not expected to be released ever. According to official reports, he mutilated all seven of his female victims during the actual rapes themselves, carving their faces up and singing folk tunes. This was based on a confession given by Jones himself, in the court room…"

Abigail raised her eyebrows. Whoever this Jones guy was… he sounded hot.

"Jones has shown no remorse for his actions, and proudly declared before the entire court, and his grieving parents, that he would add "a couple of Karrington nurses to his plate for dinner." Jones was escorted out of the courtroom by an escort of seven guards… unfortunately, upon reaching the hall, Jones was able to break free of their hold and viciously scarred one of the female escorts, biting half of her nose from her face and devouring the piece he had bitten off…"

Abigail's breath was caught. She placed her hand to her heart. She was lubricating now, hot and wet down there as she listened to the report. This Jones man… he was not just hot: he was _divine_. She turned the radio up louder, still breathing hard, her toes curling in intensity.

"Jones swore verbal allegiance to, in his own words, "all the damn psychopaths this world has to offer, and to the demons who give us our fun," as he was knocked out by the remaining guards…"

That was the final straw. She veered the car left, pelting straight into a nearby yard of a country home. Chickens in the yard screamed and ran for cover as she skid to a halt. She positively flung herself from the car, clicking her wristblades out, and began to run towards the screened in front porch of the great white house before her. Dogs, large Pits, snarled fiercely at her from behind chained in cages. She grinned at the dogs, running at the cages with full speed, the blades of her gloves glinting in the porch light that suddenly went off. The dogs were going mad, monstrously and seemingly trying to destroy the chain link before them to devour her. She leapt upon the ground and took no hesitation in driving the blades through the fence holes, impaling both animals through the skulls. They went down at once, whimpering pathetically as the blades struck through their brains, and now she could hear a voice from the porch.

"Who's there?" It was a woman calling out. Laughing wildly, madly, Abigail leapt to her feet and rocketed towards the porch. She leapt upon the steps and ran right at the screen door. The elderly woman, shotgun in hand, was taken by surprise at her sudden appearance and did not even have time to raise the weapon as Abigail reached the screen door and stabbed right through, catching the woman through the neck. The woman gasped, her eyes going wide, and Abigail mercilessly cut through the screen as she pulled the woman forward against the door and stabbed her repeatedly through the chest. As she did, she closed her eyes in more satisfaction, squeezing her legs together as she came, biting her lip again and producing more blood. It was so satisfying to kill again! It felt so damn good! _YES!_ she screamed in her head. _YES! YES! YES!_

The woman was dead long before Abigail stopped holding and stabbing her. So much blood was splattered across her face and outfit. Her red hair matched it perfectly. Licking the air with her tongue, Abigail released the woman and let her fall onto the porch, screaming hysterically in mad, insane laughter as she plummeted towards the car, more joyous than she had ever been in her life, more ecstatic than she could ever have comprehended.

She felt like she had handled her sexual frustration well.


	2. Chapter 2

Gotham City. A vast metropolis of limitless perversion of the soul, bottled under a nice containment of jolly lighting and chemistry. Abigail pulled into the lot of the Gotham Galore, a self-christened hotel deluxe of the Entertainment District. The towering giant of gold and blue lighting built into the outer walls glimmered fascinatingly in her eyes. She parked the car on a far edge of the lot, the front facing the road, and turned the engine off.

"Gotham City… where it all began," she sighed, gently stroking her friend's cheek. The chain bound, tape gagged young man in the shotgun seat looked her way, trembling uncontrollably as Abigail sighed. "She came here to begin the crusade, Justin. She came here to begin the Movement. And it ended badly for her. But it won't stay that way for long. Ivy always grows back." She placed her hand upon the tape and ripped it off hard. Justin cried out in pain, his teeth gnashing hard. Abigail's chest heaved tightly at his pain.

"Comfortable now?" she whispered. "Comfortable now that I've removed the tape?"

"Y-yes…" Justin whispered in terror, tears falling down his face. "Can I g-go now? Please let me go… my parents are going to look for me… P-please don't kill me…"

"Oh for the love of Eden… you are so dull," Abigail snapped, and she held up the green-hilted switchblade which always hid at her side these days. "I haven't even began to carve you up yet. Why can't someone just beg for me for once?"

"I-I-I… I don't want to… Please, lady, don't kill me…"

"Lady? I'm about the same age as you. What are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

"S-seventeen… I'm seventeen…"

"Seventeen?" She whistled. "You're still a minor. It would be quite illegal for me to have relations with you, wouldn't it?"

"Please…let me go… I won't tell anyone. I promise I won't."

"Won't tell anyone what?" Abigail insisted, stroking his cheek lovingly. She waved the knife to and fro before him, and his eyes followed it in absolute terror.

"A-about… about _it_… this. Kidnapping. I won't tell anyone…"

"But don't you think it would be silly of me to let you go?" she asked him, as if it should have been obvious. "Don't you think it would be silly? I kidnapped you for a reason. It wasn't spontaneous. I would look like a real idiot if I just…gave you back… at least the way I found you…"

"God, no," Justin cried, his head jerking hard as it bent low. Abigail held him close to her, rubbing his back gently.

"Shhh… it's okay. I promise it's okay. I'm not going to torture you. I'm not going to leave you in agony."

"Please let me go… please let me go…"

Abigail closed her eyes, sighing. She must do what Mother Nature would have her do. She must fulfill her role to the goddess. If she did not, then the goddess would kill her, and she would lose her Ascension. She was infuriated with Justin that he did not understand this! That's why she had taken him from his broken down car on the outskirts of Gotham. That's why she had taken him and made him see her purpose. He had to learn her purpose on this planet, so that his spirit would escape his body and whisper the message into the ears of the mammals. When she had freed him of his fleshy cage, he would understand, and then, he could tell others the news of Abigail Johnson.

She held his head up and locked eyes with him. "Justin… will you tell the people of me?"

"Y-yes!" Justin breathed, his eyes wide. The front of his pants felt warm as she brushed her hand over them. He had wet himself. The bitter smell of piss met her nostrils. She loved it. She loved his terror.

"Will you tell the people of my mission to restore Eden and its original purpose?"

"Yes I will! Yes I will!" Justin cried urgently. He needed to appeal to her. He had to.

"Will you act as my messenger? Will you speak my name to others in love?"

"Yes… I love you…"

She kissed his lips lightly, the gloss on her lips shimmering happily under the neon light. When she pulled back, Justin doubled over in pain, his teeth gritting hard. He began to make retching noises, struggling against the chains that bound him. Vomit dribbled out of his mouth and spilled onto his shirt, the smell of it awful, the sight ghastly. Abigail sighed. The Terravite poison was still in an early stage. It was still not enough to kill. It could make someone badly sick, of course, but she wanted to kill with the stuff. This… this was not adequate.

Sighing impatiently, she titled his head back and laid the blade against his throat. When she slit it, vomit spilled out of the wound, pulsing badly. He gagged loudly, blood and vomit becoming one entity as Abigail lowered the blade, sheathing it back. She watched him patiently as he passed away, examining the process with scientific interest. The muscles jerked as his body slowed to a still. His pupils had dilated. His skin had become a ghastly pale brown in color. She liked this brown. It made them look less human, and more like monsters that she had slain to save the world.

For the next few minutes following Justin's death, she carved off the boy's nose and cut out his eyes, placing each individual part in its own glass container and labelling each one according to the contents. She removed his testicles and penis last, placing them in their own jars and finished by carving her new name into his chest. **POISON IVY** bled rapidly and stained his torso. If only she could have done this to him whilst he lived. But he had annoyed her with his tears and begging. She had preferred to do her work in peace and quiet for this one. Abigail made a mental note to herself, to staple the lips of all future victims shut. She had a decently sized stapler in one of her bags. It would be put to use soon. She was still low on money and needed a more sizable income to get started on her oncoming project: the liberation of the goddess.

Even as she sat here in the dark of her car, she stared eastward, knowing that Arkham Asylum was in that direction. Arkham Asylum, where the goddess awaited in chains… _I'm going to free you. I swear goddess, I am going to free you._

She would start with this hotel. It was a decent ten stories tall, and so many windows were darkened at this time of the late night. She would kill the lobby-attendant. This was quite an expensive hotel, and as such, would have a full register, she was sure of it. The money she received off of this raid would surely finance her next phase.

Abigail exited the car and crossed the lot, the switchblade gripped tightly in her hand, concealed away in her pocket. The wind blew a chilly breeze about her face, and she hugged her lime-green overcoat more closely to her. She had placed an ushanka, its fur painted light green, upon her head and had hidden her eyes behind overlarge sunshades. Her red hair was tied back and hidden beneath the hat. The excitement within her was crazed. She almost wanted to scream out her joy, this was so exciting. She could already see the goddess breaking down the gates of Arkham into freedom, killing mammal after mammal on her way to upbringing Paradise once more. And she, Abigail Johnson, would be responsible for the genocide of humanity. She, who freed the goddess. She, who brought about the restoration of Eden. The goddess could not do it alone. Abigail was needed.

The lone lobby was isolated save for the old man behind the desk. The floor was a fine design of flowers on light-blue carpeting. She admired the flowery designs, imaging them overtaking the building and creating a floral throne upon which she could sit and be worshipped. She wanted someone, anyone, to worship her as a deity. Would the goddess allow it? Would she allow men to castrate themselves before her, or women to pledge undying loyalty?

"Can I help you?" the old geezer with the red beanie on his head asked, smiling a toothy smile at her. Abigail grinned, bowing once to him, before coming to a halt at the desk and stopping.

"How much for a room?" she asked. "Just one night."

"What kind of room are you looking for, dear?"

"Oh, just any old room will do. Something cheap and near the bottom floor." She rapped her fingers impatiently against the sides of the insider of her pocket, wanting to draw the knife out now and slay the old man.

"We charge seventy-five plus tax for one night in the lower Bellmaiden Suites, we call them. You know Bellmaiden's a flower, right?" He prodded a beautiful aquamarine colored, bell-shaped blossom in a pot beside him.

"Oh, they're darling," Abigail sighed, fingering the flower with such tender love. She brought her nose to it and sniffed enthusiastically, exhaling with intense joy. "It smells so good. Like vanilla but stronger. I think any suite named after this flower is perfect. Perfect in any way." She grinned up at the old man, whose nametag read "Carl." "Carl," she whispered. "May I have a room, please?" She parted her lips, her eyes glazing in a seductive manner. Carl grinned, sweating a little and nodding enthusiastically.

"Why, yes, of course, let me ring you up." He hurriedly punched in some numbers on the computer while Abigail sighed very audibly, stretching out her arms and intentionally moaning loudly and sensually. She could see that the man was getting turned on. It thrilled her to play with his emotions like this before her next kill. She wondered what it would be like to seduce this man and lead him into one of these rooms, to poison him with a deadly kiss… if only she could get the formula perfected. It had to be synchronized to her own personal biology, otherwise it would endanger her life. She was sure that once the goddess was free, she would gift Abigail with her powers. She would make Abigail like her, give her that poison that completely re-created her and gave her life meaning.

"Alright, that's going to be…er…" He blushed, smiling awkwardly. "How about fifty even? You look tired… and young… Maybe I could help you pay for some of it, eh? Be our little secret."

"Oh, you make a girl blush," Abigail giggled, placing her warm hand on his wrinkled one. The old man exhaled rattily. "Why not?" She reached into her other pocket and pulled out Charles's wallet. The old man took the fifty out of her hand with an eager grin. She placed her hand back on his as he punched in the numbers to open the register. Abigail gripped the knife tightly. As soon as the man opened it…

_Fa-ching!_ The bell tolled on the register loudly and happily.

Two minutes, Abigail was on the other side of the desk, grabbing handfuls of cash and filling her pockets with the stuff, standing on top of Carl's stomach as the dead man bled all over the carpet, the gash in his neck horribly deep, his punctured out eyes lying on the floor beside his head. When Abigail had emptied the register, she bent down and left her name carved into Carl's chest as well, removing the same parts from him that she had taken from Justin. She had made sure to bring spare bottles with her.

As she passed near the door, she looked up at the security camera, which was aimed right at the desk. Blowing it a kiss, she jumped up and slammed her fist against it, breaking the thing off of its stand. It toppled down onto the floor, where she kicked it fiercely across the way, losing herself once more in a mad laughing fit, her giggles unmatched and untamable. She giggled madly all the way back across the lot, and was still giggling when she got into the car and opened the passenger side, pushing Justin's body out onto the pavement.

And her laughter progressed as she sped away from the hotel, her pockets loaded with cash, enough to help her fulfill the dream. She drove and drove for several minutes, wanting to distance herself as far away from the entertainment district as possible. She would have to burn the clothes. The car would have to be abandoned soon. She was sure that the hat and sunglasses were enough to conceal what she really looked like, so the security cameras would not be able to decently betray her. She would find a home to settle down in, one that in a more remote location of the city. She wanted to be near Arkham, and East Gotham was a series of old, low-income housing and prostitution. It was a place of drug-works and carnal overlooks by the GCPD. To her, it was a sanctuary, a deadly utopia in which police intervention was limited to an almost invisible presence. Hell, everyone knew that half the GCPD came here to do their dirty little business meetings under Roman Sionis's cartel movement.

Roman Sionis… the key. She knew the name. Everyone knew the name, and everyone knew the game. He was the lord of the False Face Society, and he practically owned most of East Gotham. He owned the steel mill and the cosmetics branches across the district, funding his companies with the profit of his drug trafficking operations, which extended beyond the borders of America. He had contacts from all around the world, beautifully positioned inside local and national governments to acquire resource potential full-scale. But perhaps the most famous of Sionis's acquirements just happened to be Arkham Asylum.

Although to the public eye, Arkham was run by Warden Quincy Sharp, a mentally unstable dog who enjoyed punishment, the financer of Arkham and the name on the deed just happened to be Roman Sionis. He kept the prison running with his money, kept the doctors well-supplied for their experimentations, and had even built a steel production factory beneath Arkham. To the public, this was contributing to an in-prison occupation opportunity for the inmates, who produced the steel and were paid decent money to do so. Sionis had gone one step further too with this extension of Sionis Steel, placing men and women inside of Arkham to keep an eye on and regulate the guards who would, at the start of things, steal the paychecks assigned to the working inmates. The working patients were under his protection, and Sionis had access to Arkham at all times of the day and night.

Sionis was the key to entering Arkham. He was the key to securing the goddess, and Abigail would use him. She had already called in to make an appointment with the man himself. Sionis had connection agents who worked out of the East Gotham Foundations of Hope, a large food bank run by Sionis that was primarily used as a recruiting station for the homeless and desperate. The agent at Foundations would meet with Abigail, analyze her and ensure that she was clean, and then, if the man saw fit to allow her into Sionis's private office, he would ensure that she met the big man himself. All Abigail needed was about twenty minutes of Sionis's time, and she was ready for it.

As she sat outside of Foundations, staring up at the tall clothing factory turned food bank and shelter, she fingered the bottle of perfume in hand. Of course, it _looked _like a bottle of perfume. This was adequate. It would have to look like it. She was not sure if it was ready, but the extractions had nonetheless been successful. Liquidized plant pheromones, extracted from a Siberian Vinek flowering trap. There were many samples of these plants thriving in the greenhouses of her old college. Naturally, they let off a pheromone so strong that it could multitudes of insects at once for a mass food source. These plants were responsible for the disappearance of the Lishing beetles in North Siberia. She had decided that the time was right to text out her new experiment.

After spending a minute dosing every inch of herself in the cool, sticky substance, Abigail pocketed her bloodied knife and wrapped herself tight in her overcoat as the freezing wind of winter hit her hard. Three of Sionis's guards stood watch at the doors, each holding a sub-machine gun in hand. As she approached, they turned firmly to face her, and one of them stepped forward, a tall Irishman.

"That be far enough, eh!" he called to her. "You have business here tonight, don't ya, girley? Otherwise I might be putting me bullets in ya, eh?" He chuckled warmheartedly.

Abigail laughed softly, cozying right up to the man and heaving her chest out. She saw the man sniffing at the air. His eyes seemed to be slowly going out of focus. "I just… want to see Roman. I have an appointment, you see. A Reggie Heximal told me to come by at this time. Is he here? Tell him Fisha has arrived."

"Yes… he's here, girley," the man said quietly, his eyes wide as they analyzed her facial features. In particular, the man seemed transfixed upon her glistening lips. She parted them slightly, her tongue wiggling a bit as she came nearer. She felt the man's erection with her leg, and her heart exploded in joy. The pheromones seemed to be working.

"I'd love to see him," she said quietly as well, fingering the erection lightly with an index. "And maybe afterwards, you, you Irish warrior…"

"Heh…heh…" the man laughed stupidly. "I…I-I-I… yes… You be a naughty broad. Sionis doesn't like girls like you. Me… I don't mind so much. But you're looking for Heximal?"

"Um-hm," Abigail purred, brushing her finger against his lips. "Let me in, please."

"Marty, we're supposed to be watching the door," one of the men at the door called over to him. "She have authorization?"

"Y-yeah…I don't know… go and get Heximal… She says she's got a meeting." He was breathing hard. Abigail was lightly fondling her erection in her hand, her eyes boring into his. She wanted to murder him right now. One of the men at the door entered the building, the other one coming forward.

"Hey! What are you doing?" he demanded. He came to halt beside them, but Abigail did not release the now panting Marty. She leaned in towards the bewildered friend of Marty, and watched as he too caught the faint, subtle hint of the pheromones. His eyes too went slightly out of focus, and he inhaled rather harshly. "I… I don't think we should…"

"Should what?" Abigail whispered, her free hand gently brushing the man's cheek. "Do you have a name?" Her knees tapped the front of his cargos. There was definitely a bump growing there.

"Eu-Eugene…" the man said rather dumbly. The bump was getting bigger.

Grinning, gleeful and filling in total control for the first time all day, Abigail took out the perfume bottle once more, and sprayed the air around the two men. Their breathing intensified. They were eyeing her with wide expressions, their lips quivering.

"Don't get much action around here, do you?" Abigail whispered, now groping Eugene as she did Marty.

"No miss…don't…no…" Marty's face was bright red and he seemed to be straining, as if the blood had rushed to his brain. Eugene looked astounded, overtaken with so much emotion.

"Some…I…what?" he whispered, looking dizzy. Abigail closed her eyes, thanking the goddess locked away in Arkham. _I will do you proud, unholy matron. _

"Get on your knees," she whispered to them, pulling down on their erections hard. They both feel down at her feet, looking up at her with intense expressions. She stroked their heads lovingly. "Now: call me goddess."

"Goddess?" Marty asked, dumbfounded.

"You…goddess…huh?" Eugene looked dizzier by each passing second. Abigail sighed, but was contented for the time. The pheromones seemed to be working to some small degree, but she still did not have total control as the newspapers had reported. The original Ivy had had men go on mass killing sprees. She had entranced an entire crowd of worshippers at a ball. These two seemed to be halfway there: their minds seemed addled, and they were prone to basic suggestion. But they had to be intensified. She had to have total control!

She threw herself atop Marty, forcing him to the ground, pressing her lips against his and kissing him so deeply, so passionately. She switched between the two of men, laying across them, forcing herself upon them, and they did not retaliate. They welcomed her advances willingly. Of course, the enchantment was soon broken. Her lips were still saturated by the poisoned lip-gloss, and Marty was the first to start vomiting, doubling over in pain as he held his stomach firmly in hand.

"God!" he cried, slamming a fist against the ground.

"F-the..no…aagh!" Eugene cried, trying to contain the contents of his stomach. Abigail stood to her feet and watched them as they retched, enjoying every last second of their torment. Their pain would subside in a moment, but for now she could await in such a joyous manner. The gloss gave her power. It made her poisonous in her own unique way… but until it could sap the life from their bodies, it was no good to her indefinitely.

The third man soon returned, and stared in shock at the scene of vomiting men at Abigail's feet. He pointed his gun at her.

"What happened!?" he demanded.

Abigail approached him, and he pressed the gun right against her temple. She smiled, fingering the end of his gun in a suggestive manner. This man seemed to catch the pheromone scent too. An odd expression went over his face.

"You really want to know?" she whispered, stepping forward once more, to where she was right up against him. Her arms were wrapped around him before he knew what was happening, and she had forced a deep kiss upon him. The man punched at his chest, falling to his knees, and Abigail continued on her way past him as he began to lose his dinner. Her heart was filled with such joy, such happiness. Those men were sick. They were in pain. And it was because of her. Her and her poisoned kiss. She was a quarter of the way there. She could make them sick. Sooner than soon, when Sionis had helped her free the goddess, she would be able to make them dead. And she would return to this place, and off Marty, Eugene and the other man as well. They were as good as dead. She would obsess with it.

The inside of the massive chamber was a sight. The warehouse had been emptied of all its equipment years ago, and was host to a wide multitude of tables and chairs. These white tables were empty at the moment. The food bank did not open again until Monday, and on that day, the tables would be filled to the brim with every kind of food and drink imaginable, all for the welfare of the poor, desperate slugs of Gotham. Sionis could not have picked a better charity to control. These were so many clients to such an operation that would not give joining him a second thought.

A beefy, dark-skinned man stood near an office door, in his hand a black pistol. His hair was dyed snow white and spiked up, his beard matching it with its strong fuzziness. He wore a very fine coat, velour and dark purple. Just based on his appearance, Abigail knew that this man must be Heximal. He looked like a man who would own the gruff voice she had talked to over the phone.

Sure enough, when he opened his mouth as she approached, this was confirmed. "Fisha Santos?"

She giggled sweetly. "For tonight, anyway. Maybe tomorrow I'll be Regina Maxwell or Katy Phillbun."

"Well, if tonight you're Santos, then we have a meeting, don't we? My friends outside will have emptied out your pockets, of course." He eyed her coat suspiciously.

"They're on sick leave," she replied coolly, resisting the urge to laugh aloud. "They didn't remove this." She pulled out the knife from her pocket, waving the bloodied thing to and fro in front of the man's face. "Here. Take it. Be careful though. It's got someone's blood on it. Most recent blood. More than one someone, too. I don't want to stain your pretty coat."

Heximal's eyes were wide. He uncomfortably removed the knife from her hand. She continued to grin at him, her eyes wide and mad. "Where are my boys?" he asked in suspicion.

"Out there," she replied, pointing at the door. "Vomiting all over the place."

"Vomiting?"

"Yes. You see, I poisoned them. Don't worry. They'll live. The effects are temporary and non-fatal." She said this with an air of sadness.

"You WHAT!?" he demanded, pointing the gun between her eyes.

"Reggie!" a voice from above suddenly cried, and both Heximal and Abigail jumped. The voice had come from an intercom above the office door, attached to which was a security camera pointing directly at them. "Put the gun down and bring her inside. Now!"

"But…boss…"

"Do it!"

"Um…yeah, okay, sure." Heximal lowered the gun. "Should I clean her out?"

"No…not this one. You let her come in armed with a bazooka for all I care. Don't de-flower that girl one bit."

Abigail smirked. No one could deflower Mother Nature.

Heximal begrudgingly motioned for her to enter the office, opening the door. Inside, a long corridor lead down to another door, which stood open. He escorted her down the way and into the main office of Roman Sionis. The place was extravagant, a compilation of exquisite finery. The walls were made of solid gold, and the light reflected off of them was so intense! The carpeting was so soft underfoot. Abigail could feel it through her ballet flats. There was a fine, dimly lit chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Paintings were attached to the walls, portraying a fine-looking man with sleek, gelled black hair and intense, dark eyes. The man wore a fine suit of white with black stripes, his expression cold and firm. This same man, in the same suit, with the same expression, sat behind a fine desk of mahogany, smoking a strong-scented cigar, an open bottle of brandy at his side. Behind this man was a television screen, which took up the entirety of the wall, and on this screen were a large selection of miniature screens, each showing a live feedback from different positions in and out of the building. One of these screens showed the outside, above the entrance. The three doormen were still doubled over in pain. Marty was still coughing up large bits of vomit and bile.

"Have a seat, love," Roman Sionis told her, motioning for the rather squashy armchair in front of the desk. Abigail did as ordered, taking a seat and kicking her feet up onto his desk, resting them on some scattered papers, her face perfectly relaxed. Sionis raised his eyebrows. Heximal, on the other hand, moved forward fast. "No, no," Sionis said quickly, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "Leave her be. I like my guests to be comfortable."

Heximal stopped in his tracks, looking sullen and pale. He shot Abigail a disgusted look. "Respect the boss," he warned her in a dark tone.

"I'm sure she will, now skedaddle, Reggie. Leave us."

Heximal nodded, sighing as he turned around and shut the door behind him, leaving Abigail and Sionis in the room alone.

"So…" Sionis clapped his hands together, and nodded backwards at the monitors. "Very nice work out there. Poison kiss… such a familiar thing after the shit that went down in Gotham last year."

"You like my work?" Abigail sighed, kicking off her shoes and letting them drop down onto the table. She wiggled her toes in his face, hoping the pheromones she had sprayed there would overwhelm him. He chuckled, but his attention was upon her face.

"You are…quite a different customer, aren't you? You seem to own this world…"

"Of course… I am Mother Nature, after all…"

"Mother Nature… yes… that's what she said, too. She, being Pamela Isley, that wacko they got cooped up in the loony bin." He took a deep swig of brandy, and did not notice (or care about) the expression of venomous rage on Abigail's affronted face. "You look like her too. Same red hair, same green eyes… and a poisonous kiss to boot. So, then… what game are you playing, kiddo? How did you do that to my boys?"

"A girl doesn't display the contents of her drawers on the first date, does she? She waits for round two. We'll still at first base, you and me."

"So how do we get to second? What do you want that's so important, then?" Now he was concentrating on her feet, his eyes filled with a deep lust. His chest was moving up and down rapidly. Abigail pulled out a small box from her pocket, now that the pheromones were setting in. Inside this small box were some pink wipes, moistured recently. Picking one out, she began to apply the solution to her lips, removing the traces of poison that coated them. She would need her lips in just a moment… but she could not afford to do any damage to Sionis, not yet. She needed him to stay in her good books, and she in his. "I can get you anything you dream, Miss Fisha."

"Please, Roman… call me by my real name. Call me Poison Ivy."

"Okay… Poison Ivy… what is it that you want? I…I can get you anything…anything you want…" His eyes were dazing over.

"What I want," Abigail said, unzipping her pants and removing them, exposing the nothingness that she wore beneath, "is a way into Arkham. I want a prisoner to be removed from its custody, Roman." She tossed the pants aside and spread her legs out, removing her coat. Roman was overwhelmed with his lust, his eyes wide and glistening intently. When she removed every last scrape of clothing from her body, she motioned at him with a finger. "Can you do it? I have payment ready for you."

"Sounds like you have a mission… it…it will cost you…"

"Oh, I know. I'm prepared…to pay the price, Mr. Sionis." She dreamily sucked on her finger. She then lowered her hand and took out the bottle again, holding it low and saturating the air.

"And…what…payment…"

"I need a prisoner released from Arkham," she said.

She could see that the pheromones were taking him now, and his face too was red and brilliant. His hands groped around her ankles tightly, his fingers massaging the soles of her feet. She closed her eyes and relaxed her body, enjoying the control she had over one of the most powerful mob bosses in the city. Indeed, in the country. Indeed, in the world. "You want…a prisoner…"

"Yes, a prisoner. Pamela Isley. You know her, too, as Poison Ivy. The original Poison Ivy. She was, as you said, put in the loony bin last year after her attack on the mammals of this wretched city. I offer you myself as a reward if you give her to me. You control Arkham. The chief of police, Loeb… he's on your payroll. You can get her out of there. You give me Ivy… and I'll become your mistress. I'll work for you. I can get things done. I have talents, Roman. Talents you need. And I am prepared to offer you a sizable security deposit. $10,000."

"I...I, uh… just….but…. yeah…?" He was breathing hard, distressed and overwhelmed. "Sure… sure, yeah… you want to work… for me?"

"Yes, I do," Abigail whispered, pressing her big toe against his lips. He kissed it rather loudly, his hands shaking as he stood to his feet. "I offer myself to you, Roman. Myself, the money, and my service. You've seen what I can do. You've seen the power of my kiss, have you not? Perhaps I should show you. Come to me. And lose the pants. You won't need them…lover."

Roman hastily clambered to his feet, overwhelmed by the pheromones now, and he saddled clumsily over to her, removing that which he was commanded. She pulled him over, bringing him into her embrace with a most intense kiss, groping him as she had done his men. Roman climbed onto the chair, not removing his lips from hers, his hands clumsily groping at her chest. She helped him find their mark, and entangled him in a most intense embrace of the evening, destroying all of his mental and physical barriers which protected him from giving in. Abigail moaned softly, directing him into breaking through, intense with the perverse action. The process was tender, the feel of it inside quaint to her tastes. Charles had never existed. Not now. His existence was erased in this moment as she took Sionis and made him hers, giving everything to the crime-boss. It hurt. It always hurt. But pain was a pleasure that must be explored, intensified, and encouraged.

Her legs wrapped his waist like vines, and for a most beautiful moment, an image flashed through her mind of Roman Sionis's corpse strung up, thick green vines wrapped around his neck. He was stripped bare, and his eyes and penis had been cut away. Cut away and offered to the goddess herself, who held Abigail in her arms, transforming Abigail into something so much _more_… As their lovemaking intensified, she focused more and more upon his murder, and it helped her reach that desperate point of intensity she longed for with him.

At length, she pulled back from her kiss. Sionis was breathing so raggedly, his face saturated in sweat. She held his face by the chin, and her eyes bored into his. "Do we have a deal?" she breathed hard. "Give me Ivy… give me Poison Ivy…"

Sionis's eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Ugh…f-duch… I…ock…Yes…What…?"

Abigail sighed, cradling him close. The effects would wear off in time. She decided to pacify his desires, directing him slowly. For half an hour, they lay in silence, slowly moving in their deed, their kiss unending. Roman was a slave under the influence of the pheromones. She was pleased with this. When the pheromones at last subsided, Roman fell backwards against the table, staring up at the ceiling with an expression equal to that of a man who had seen everything and experiencing every joy that could possibly be know to man. He slowly pulled himself out of her, and Abigail sighed in contentedness, massaging her now bruised, reddened vulva. She had not had such an intense episode in such a long time.

Sionis swayed on the spot, leaning against the wall as he tried to get his senses about him. Abigail joined him, putting a firm hold on his shoulder and whispering into his ear, "I have so much I can offer you, Sionis. Ivy and I… we have plans. We're going to overthrow Gotham together. After we do, it will be left to you to do the picking. You could have anything you want. Gotham would be my gift to you."

"Gift?" he whispered back.

"Yes… help me free Poison Ivy… and I will give you anything you ask of me."

"Anything?"

"Everything…"

He silently dressed himself, and she followed his example, having proven her forced point in a most direct manner. She was satisfied to have conquered his willpower. Abigail knew that if any other woman had tried to force herself upon Roman Sionis has she had, they would have been blown away in a heartbeat. When the two had resumed seating, Sionis reached below his desk and produced a fresh bottle of brandy, which he offered to her. Abigail took it with a soft smile, whispering, "Thanks."

It tasted good. Very good. Like victory. "So… what…what sparks your interest in Ivy…?"

"Can you not see? I admire her. I am her worshipper. Her follower. I desire her rulership, and a chance to rid Gotham of something that has terrorized its very soul for far too long. You see… if Ivy is free, then the three of us stand a chance of doing something…_grand_."

"And…what's that?" His breathing as getting under control now. He leaned back hard in his chair, his body still weak with exhaustion. "What else can you offer me?"

"The Batman," Abigail said slowly, "and the worshippers."

Sionis blinked rapidly. "The…Batman…? And the worshippers? You mean… you mean Robin? That's what they call the kid. And this new chick… Batgirl…"

"The three of them can and will be dealt with. They brought great harm and dishonor onto the goddess Ivy. I… I will see to it that they are sacrificed to her," Abigail spat, rage overtaking her. "I'll cut their heads off. I'll gouge their eyes out. I'll cut off the needed parts! The goddess demands sacrifice! These things are needed, Sionis!" She gripped the arms of the chair tightly. "I… I can kill them… I can kill them, and you can too! Ivy can kill them because she'll have me! Don't you see…. if you give me Ivy… then I'll give Gotham its greatest triumph: the murder of Batman and his worshippers. But we need Ivy, and we need her now. You control Arkham. You can give her to me. And in return, I will become your assassin, your mistress. I will serve the False Face Society. And I have money. Lots of money. I have ways of getting money. Trust me… I'm the key to your comforting nights. Batman will no longer be able to terrorize you, or your clients. I swear this to you, Roman Sionis."

"You… you're not joking, are you?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Who are you really, Ivy? Who the hell… who the hell are you?" His grasped at his heart. It seemed to be pumping at an alarming rate.

Abigail brushed her hair lightly in hand. "I _am_ Poison Ivy. Now. At this moment. I am Poison Ivy. But…I am also Abigail. Abigail Robinson. Name me what you will, however. You're the boss, not me. I'll take a name of your choosing."

"Abigail Robinson…" Sionis pulled a blank sheet of paper forward and scribbled the name down with a ballpoint pen. "Alias: Poison Ivy. For now?" He glanced up.

Abigail winked. "For now. Perhaps she will allow me to keep it, for it is who I am. She…she is the goddess, and must be named as such."

"Poison Ivy, then. Other alias: Fisha Santos. Other aliases?"

"As I said… that's up to you."

Sionis considered for a few moments, and then continued writing: "Diane Persh. Tasia Valen. Uma Thorma. All applicable names, circumstance based." He glanced up at her again. "Learn them well."

"Beautiful. Such lovely names."

"Alright, here's the deal," Sionis said, handing her the folded paper, which she pocketed enthusiastically. "I'll give you one job. One job. I want you to prove yourself to me. You've already halfway done that. You're a woman who will do anything for a favor. I'll make you my mistress. You can share the role with Amelia and Darla. But you mentioned that you could be valuable as a killer for hire?"

"I love killing," Abigail said bluntly, kissing her finger. "I've killed six people alone tonight…"

Sionis nodded, looking impressed. "I like your style. Those boys of mine… they had it coming. Maybe I'll get you to off them… I've hired better."

"I had that in mind, actually."

Sionis frowned. He held up a warning finger. "Now listen here, sweetheart. In the bed, you're a star. But offstage, you're still an amateur. One thing I'm going to make clear: you don't spill False Face blood unless I tell you to spill it. This society is a family. If I tell you to kill Heximal out there, then I expect a hammer in his skull by sundown. But that's only if I tell you to do it. Is that understood?"

"You're the boss," Abigail whispered. "I can sate my bloodlust in other men and women."

"Well, good, because I have some troublemakers who need a woman's touch. You new in Gotham or a native?"

"New."

"Well, then, I guess you don't know about these guys." He pushed a manila envelope forward and opened it up. Inside were two photos, one man and one woman. Both were Asian in ethnicity and had hard, dark expressions. The man was shaven, the woman cropped-cut. Their names, according to the police mugshots, were Hatsumoto Myazaki and Takada Myazaki. Their file listed numerous offenses, mostly robbery and homicide through robbery. "They're siblings. Twins from the Red Dot itself. They've hit three of my banks in the last month, and killed guards and innocent civilians each time. They're wild and unpredictable. We've recently acquired their base of operations. They're based out of the Hippodrome in the entertainment district. Live in the basement, I'm told. We've actually been planning a raid for a few days now, but… I'd like to test you, Abigail. You think you can get rid of them?"

Abigail straightened up now, tense and concerned about what Sionis was asking her. "Eh?"

Sionis smiled darkly. "They're very dangerous. Minds are addled. But I want to see what you're made of. You take these out, Abigail. You take these two out, and Ivy's as good as yours. I'll have her removed from Arkham and put into the care of the society. I expect a retaliation on her part, but any inmate we remove from Arkham has to be put under our watch until I deem them ready to leave. It's just the name of the game. If you're really set on swearing yourself to me, then she'll have to do the same."

"I… I'm sure she'll be gracious," Abigail said nervously, biting her lip. She was supposed to take these guys out? By herself? Sionis would not give her Ivy unless she did this…

"So… we supply you with weapons, ammunition and protection. You go in. You off them both, and you cut their heads off. Bring the heads back to me and lay them on my desk. After you do that, I'll give you Ivy. And I'll also be taking that $10,000 from you. You can give it to me with the heads. My boys will be keeping an eye on you. You'll stay here until you move out. Try to backstab or run out on me, and I'll be…heartbroken." He punched his fist into his other hand. "Terribly so. That's the deal. Will you do it?"

Abigail gulped. She was trembling now, fearful of what she was being asked. Could she do this? Could she kill two dangerous murderers like herself? These people would have guns on them and be ready for a fight. They would not be unsuspecting victims as Justin and the old man at the hotel had been.

"Yes…" she breathed, clenching her fists tightly. "I can do this."

_Goddess…give me your power from afar to destroy these mammals. Give me your power to be Poison Ivy full realized. Let me tear these mammals apart. Let me spill their blood in honor of the coming genocide…_


	3. Chapter 3

"Rise and shine, rise and shine!" cried Wemore Perce, rattling the bars on the door very loudly with his nightstick. The creature in the dark of the early morning cell stirred feebly upon the bed, and gave him no sign of attention. Perce, ever the young asshole with a log stuck up his nose, sighed angrily, and practically slammed the stick against the door, as if auditioning for the most intense drummer ever. His mouth remained firm and puckered, but his eyes were wide and crazed. In his mind, he sang a song: _Cry baby, cry, poke you in the eye, sever your spine, make you mine_…

The creature on the distant bed within stirred again, and finally, with a low moan of anger, rolled over and onto the floor, landing in her rehearsed crouch for day to day setoffs.

"About time," muttered Perce. "Alright, move it. We have a big schedule today. Mark and Evan get to go first, and then me. After me, Dirk and Yorinda both get five minutes apiece, since they're on watch-tower duty today. We have to get through all that before breakfast. Hurry up and wash your damn face."

He watched patiently as the creature in the dark sauntered into its routine, shuffling only slightly as it crouched over the sink and began to run the cold water. The creature was shivering hard. The inside of the cell was so icy cold. And it smelled terrible in there, musty and vulgar to the senses. Perce hated being the one who always went to fetch her. Why could Dirk not come in for a change and handle that awful smell? Simply out, Perce knew it was because Dirk was afraid of the woman. Even though he always joined everyone else in the fun, he was still afraid of the woman in lonesome company. After what had happened to Ridges… after what had happened to Maxwell… But that had been no one's fault. Who could have ever suspected that there were more poisonous traps than just the lips?

The creature finished washing its face, and slowly walked over to the light pouring in from the door window. Perce braced himself, gripping the stick tightly, and he stepped back by about an inch. There still was not enough room for her to reach through… but he was going to take no chances.

"Are you ready for some fun?" he asked her, sweating only a little. He had to maintain composure…or he would end up compost.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Pamela Isley yawned quietly, pressing her face against the bars and staring at him widely…blankly… Perce winced as he did every time he looked at her face. The heavily sunken in eyelids and the bruises decorating her cheeks and forehead… stains of green where she had cried for hours and hours on end, old blood flecks that had still not completely left her… Her crimson hair was a mess, dry, dead leaves decorating the strands and dirt staining the mass, while large chunks near the back had been ripped away long ago… She was hideous. So very hideous, like a witch from the swamp.

One year ago, Pamela Isley had terrorized Gotham. She had taken so many lives, caused so much untold destruction… These days, she was an exhibit, a toy to be used at the player's leisure, an animal kept in the dark and cold, to be taken out for the pleasures of those who sought to rid themselves of petty morality for sessions at a time…

Perce held the stick in front of her face. She winced now herself. She and this stick had been through a lot together in one year. It was Perce's favorite thing to beat her with… and Perce's favorite thing to do was to beat her. Sometimes they came unexpectedly in the middle of the night. She would be awoken to the strong redwood cracking against her back or feet. Sometimes Perce lost control, and sometimes he did not: he just acted like he lost control. To him, life was her un-life, and it was go slowly. So slowly, until the day he finally ended her life and tossed her corpse into the river so very far below. And every time he came for her, he would always say the same words: _"Sam sends his regards."_ Sam Perce had been a victim of Ivy's during her first crusade. The man had been one in so many nameless rabble taken during her early days in Gotham, during the first executions of the movement. The authorities had found his corpse and so many others in a grotto of Gotham Central Park, and young Wemore Perce had dedicated his existence to Ivy's endless suffering.

When Perce had come to work at Arkham, his first influential decision had been to remove Victor Fries, Isley's cellmate, to a different section of the institution, ending the snowman's influence over the woman's agony. Ivy had seen this as salvation, for the things that Fries had done to her… they were the stuff of nightmares. Indeed Perce had removed the regulator that Fries had attached to her back, sending out false signals that tricked Ivy's brain into feeling bitter cold and thus disabling the warmth relays of the nerves, but this had only been because Perce had felt that her agony must come from him, and him alone.

"Sam sends his regards," Perce said this morning. "As do we all."

Ivy leaned in, her lips slightly passing the tight bars of the door, and she whispered, "Your time is coming."

Perce reacted at once, slamming the nightstick hard against the bars. Ivy fell backwards with a scream, her lip busted open by the sudden strike. Perce yanked the door open after a slight turn of the key and took out his cuffs, forcibly turning her onto her belly, and he promptly began to cuff her. She struggled against him, sobbing now, but he held her firmly, twisting the stick around to a softer side and proceeding to blunt the back of her head with it. She fell face-down into the stone floor, sobbing uncontrollably against it, and Perce whistled loudly.

From down the hall, a host of men came forward, led by a single woman. All were dressed in their uniforms, and all wore stony, cold expressions. The woman, beautiful and young, carried a blunt wooden stake in one hand, and a syringe in the other. The syringe was empty.

The multitude surrounded Perce and Ivy, and one of the men in the back shut the door quickly. Another found the lights, blasting intense illumination into the cell, golden-red that took away none of the freezing air. Perce cuffed Ivy's ankles, and the woman bent down, a black gag in hand. She jerked Ivy up by the hair and tied the gag around her mouth. It was well-made with strong leather and tight straps. Ivy was screaming through it, but they simply ignored her, as this was a simple element to exist within. The power that one had over another was an exhilarating contemplation for the dark-minded who gave into the unnatural cravings.

"There we go now," Mark Klein whispered, falling down beside Ivy and wriggling his fingers over her chest. She stared up at him with green eyes filled with such hate….such desire to kill!

"Hurry up, Perce. You and Evan get her first. I'll go afterwards. We can't take too long. Yorinda and Dirk have guard-tower duty. Make it fast."

"Oh, I have all the time in the world," Yorinda assured Perce, kissing the syringe she held in her hand lovingly. Perce grinned, loving the needle as much as Yorinda did. He loved both the pain and humiliation it would inflict upon Pamela Isley. Yorinda took samples of her blood and drained the hemotoxin from the woman's lips, and the wonderful boys over at Dagger Incoporated studied the samples and used them in their classified playtimes. Perce and Yorinda both were paid well for these supplies of samples. What Dagger was doing with them, Perce neither cared nor wanted to know. It was of no concern to him.

Mark began to unzip his pants, and Perce said, "You _did_ remember to bring appropriate cautionaries, yes?"

Mark pulled down his pants and frowned. "Of course I did. After what happened to Maxwell? I brought the item. Dirk, can I borrow it?"

Dirk nodded, grunting as he handed over the cautionary: it looked like a saddle, reinforced with leather like Ivy's gag, but with a clear, strong and flexible tubing for the insertion of the penis. A convoluted condom, but they were not taking chances with her. Walter Ridges had snuck into Ivy's cell one night, planning to catch her by surprise as she slept. His gag had worked fine… but the man had worn no protection. Perce had discovered the man's corpse in bed with Ivy the next morning. He'd been poisoned through her birth canal, and apparently, she had tucked him into bed like a lover after that, sleeping peacefully with the dead man. A month later, Charlie Maxwell, an initiate and rookie to watch-duty, had attempted the same thing. After these two incidents, Perce had ensured that their annual rape-fests would go with maximum security. No one was allowed to touch Ivy without protection of the genitals and lips. This woman could poison them from the most unlikely of places, and Perce had to regulate their dark deeds carefully. To his knowledge, her skin did not seem to be toxic, but inside, beneath the skin…

Mark saddled himself in, and promptly began his deed, placing headphones over his ears and hitting play on his portable CD-player to drown out Ivy's muffled screams. Dirk and Perce watched the scene with intense excitement. Yorinda, bored but patient, played a game on her phone as she awaited the men to finish with their turns. Evan sat against the wall, his head bent low as he muttered a prayer to some god who must surely condone the evil that was about to be done, or at least, Perce was sure that that was what was happening. He spoke in some foreign tongue and spoke reverently, and seemed to be sweating as he did. Those words said things that Perce must never understand. He was too far gone to grasp the possibility that Evan was praying forgiveness before his sin would occur. Men fall. Worlds die. This was the truth of the matter: humanity given its most intense study.

Ivy had gone quiet a few minutes into Mark's violation. She had become still, her eyes going out of focus. The anesthetic in the gag was settling in now. Yorinda looked pleased. Mark was huffing and puffing, his hands around Ivy's throat.

"Don't kill her now," Perce said absentmindedly. "Keep her alive."

"Don't worry about me, captain," Mark panted. "Worry about yourselves."

Perce cracked his knuckles loudly. He stepped forward and planted a fierce kick into Mark's back. The man went flying forward, his face planting against Ivy's mouthpiece. He rolled away in terror, Ivy's eyes narrowing only slightly through her hazy disposition of the reality around her. Perce knew that she was grinning behind that mask. Even though she could not possibly hurt them, she still enacted fear upon these men. Perce clenched his fist.

"What the hell man!?" Mark cried, jumping to his feet and coming forward to confront Perce. "What in the blazing-"

Perce struck out before Mark could finish speaking, his fist slamming into the man's jaw. Mark crumpled down onto the floor, and Perce promptly began to beat him with the nightstick, striking at pivotal nerves in the knees and crotch. Mark tried to scream, but Dirk ran forward and muffled the man with his hand, nodding at Perce, egging him to keep on going.

Perce struck Mark several more times, and when the man lay bleeding, bruised and half-conscious upon the floor, Perce grabbed him by the throat and fixed eye to eye contact. "Now," he whispered, "let's try this again. A-fucking-gain. What-are-you-to-do-when-I-give-you-a-command?"

"I-I… eh…ugh…" Mark spat out a mouthful of blood and looked through bruised eyes up at Perce. Perce, who was stronger and taller than him. Perce, who was nephew to the crime-boss who ran Arkham, whose connections were beyond Mark's comprehension… who could get away with murder if he wanted… "Ah-ree…"

"What!?"

"S-sorry…P—erccce… didn't mean…sorry… obey…I obey you…"

"That's right, chicken shit," Perce hissed into his ear. "You obey. Now, do you feel like you've learned your lesson? Do you feel like you've learned not something about your loyalties today?"

Yorinda bent down beside Perce. "Perce, we've got to keep going. Time's ticking."

Perce ignored her, and pulled Mark over to Ivy, dragging him across her and forcing his head down, to where he stared into her eyes. Perce put a threatening hand over Ivy's mouthpiece.

"Now, Mark… do you want me to take this mask off, and let this animal kill you? I will, and she damn well will too. I'll force your lips against hers! I'll let this animal poison you, Mark, I'll let her sap the fucking life right out of you! And I won't lost sleep over any of it. She's my creature, to do what I say. You want me to remove this mask, let her kiss you?"

"No…" Mark sobbed, his tears falling onto Ivy's cheeks. "No… please, God, don't do it…"

Perce jerked him back, throwing him across the room, where he rolled to a stop at Dirk's feet. Dirk looked excited.

"Alright, then, Mark. Get out of here, then. Go down to laundry and wash my shirts for tomorrow. I want all three of them waiting in my office by noon."

Mark desperately tried to climb to his feet, but he could not muster the strength to do so, and fell with a pained yell into a crumpled heap. Perce turned, the nightstick ready in hand again. Evan jumped up from his seat of prayer and promptly picked Mark up, supporting the man with his arm. "I take him," he whispered through his spicy Arabic accent. "I take him and mend wounds. I help Mark with laundry." He began to walk Mark over to the door. Perce stomped his foot down harshly.

"Let him walk himself!" Perce roared. Evan shook his head, pulling Mark into the corridor.

"I no rape woman today," Evan said. "I no take her and do things. I help Mark." He said this so defiantly, and Perce turned a crimson not unlike Ivy's hair. He watched in fury as Mark and Evan vanished behind the door.

"Fucking little rag-head," Perce snapped, turning his attention back to Ivy. He promptly began to remove his own pants, pulling out a small box of Trojans from his pocket. "Why the hell did we even drag him into this? He can't even speak damn English." He began to fit himself into the Trojan. "I hate it. I really hate it. You and me, Yorinda, we're the only respectable assholes in this entire institution."

"Hey…what about me?" Dirk asked, looking affronted. Perce gave Dirk a disgusted look.

"Sure, Dirk… dogs, after all, are just as important to a family institution." He fell down upon Ivy and began his sin. Yorinda and Dirk watched in silence as Perce began Ivy's latest nightmares. The testament to the deed would be a horrendous endeavor. Oh how she screamed, and oh how she bled. His mad smile never left his lips, Perce… even when the knife flashed in his hand and he began to make carvings on her arms, noticeable, irregularly shaped cuts that made could almost be mistaken for finger scratches. Self-inflicted. He was an artist with a knife, and he knew how to fake the cuts. Ivy was a wretched, lost soul. Self-infliction was one of her knowns. He used that to his advantage when he tortured her.

"How does it feel?" he whispered into her ear. "How does the pain feel? Does this agony befit you? I hope it does. I hope it _really_ does…"

"We have to hurry!" Yorinda snapped impatiently.

"Take your samples now," Perce panted, brushing sweat from his brow. "Dirk… get your ass over here and play."

"I…I should wait…" Dirk looked uncomfortable. "These things….sort of need to be done on a one-on-one basis, you know…"

"Shut up and get over here!" Perce snapped, drawing his pistol from his side and aiming at Dirk's chest. Dirk leapt backwards, throwing his hands in there, his eyes wide.

"Alright, alright, you crazy fuck! I'm coming…"

Yorinda laughed quietly to herself, smirking. Perce sure had a way of doing things. She and Dirk took to either side of Ivy. She began to search for the usual vein, studying the faint green veins within with delicate care. Dirk, meanwhile, threw a blindfold around Ivy's face, blackening her vision, and then he took out a pocket blade. Dirk began to severe the buttons from her shirt, slicing the fabric open with shaking, excited hands, his mouth salivating. The faint traces of something so sweet and empowering met their nostrils. There was some invisible, beautiful scent that made their minds fog over. The air was of love and joy and their blood burned with intense warmness. Behind the blindfold, Poison Ivy was focusing as much energy as she could on expelling the pheromones that her body naturally produced, seeking a way, any way, to overtake Perce and convince him to remove the mouthguard… but distractions kept coming in the form of the cuts that he made into her skin. Those savage cuts were like fire.

Yorinda had found the vein, and was now drawing Ivy's aloe-based blood, filling the container to the brim. After she was finished, she placed the syringe securely in a bio-hazard bag, and took the blunted stake in hand.

"And now for Mr. Falcone's wishes," she whispered to Ivy, flattening her victim's hand upon the floor. She then raised the blunted stake in the air, winked at Ivy, and smashed the blunt side down onto Ivy's palm. Ivy's scream was terrible, breaking through the anesthetic, her eyes flooding with tears and green blood, a foul smelling mixture indeed. Yorinda smashed down the stake five more times, Ivy's hands bruising more and more with each blow, and then at last she rose, sweeping up the bag in hand and brushing Perce's head with her hand. "I'll be off now, Wemore. You still coming to the party tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll be there," Perce panted through gritted teeth. "Tell that bastard Falcone I want a rematch at cards."

"Should I tell him those exact words?"

"Leave the "bastard" part out."

"I'll do that. Have fun…"

Dirk raised his head from his own sin, grinning a yellow-toothed smile at Yorinda. "Have a nice day, Yorinda."

Yorinda gave him a blank stare, nodded curtly once, and left the room without a word. Perce stopped his thrusting and looked up at Dirk, frowning considerably. "Get out."

Dirk was affronted. "Why!? I just started!"

Perce aimed the gun at him again. "Out!" he roared, firing off a shot. He had aimed for the wall behind Dirk, the bullet passing so closely and yet hitting exactly where Perce was aiming. Dirk let out a frantic, "Fuck!" and proceeded to run for it, not looking back at the madman who had nearly destroyed him out of some misguided, unforeseen madness. Perce chuckled softly to himself, lying forward over Ivy and stroking her hair in his hand. He smelled the strands and grazed them against his lips.

"I like it better this way. Just you…and me… don't we have so much fun?" He looked down at the Trojan, and grinned. As he had predicted, the thing was stained with flecks of faint green. "Stop trying to kill me, Pam. You're not going to succeed. I've won this round, as I've won every round, as I'll always win every round that you offer to me." He jabbed the knife at her cheek, cutting her, and she winced in pain, moaning loudly in agony. "You're just a freak. An animal, Isley. You should have killed Batman and Robin and Batbroad when you had the chance. You could have turned us all into icicles and compost. You failed. You're getting no more chances. No more chances. My brother Sam is laughing at your pain right now. He's enjoying it. I know. He tells me, every night. Me and him…we _talk_ to each other, Pam. We talk and talk, sometimes until the sun comes up. I… I love my brother, Isley… love my brother…" He cut her other cheek. "You…you'll die in here. I'm the one who's going to kill you. I promise. It won't be long. I'm going to drive all eight inches of this steel right into your fucking skull. I already know who the murderer will be. Timothy, down in Accounting. You murdered _his_ brother too, so I'm gonna use him. I'm gonna frame him. I'll throw your body in the river. Maybe the poisons in you will pollute it and kill all the fucking fish. You'd like that, right? To murder even in death? Well… maybe you'll get your wish."

He pulled out of her and began to carefully remove the Trojan, ensuring not to touch the poison that saturated it. He disposed of them in the toilet, dressing himself once more, and then he returned to Ivy. Hoisting her into his arms, he tossed her upon the bed and began to savagely remove her bindings, taking the mouthguard off last. When he removed this piece, he made a run for the door, as predictably, with an animalistic, monstrous scream, Pamela Isley ran at him, leaping off the bed like a wild animal. Perce was already behind the slammed door by the time she reached it, her fists banging against the bars like a rabid gorilla.

"I'll kill you!" she screamed as the toxins in her body finished burning up the last of the anesthetic. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Perce walked away slowly, breathing in satisfaction, and he began to whistle, twirling his nightstick round and round. Ivy watched him walk away and vanish around the corner. This was an isolated wing. She was contained to herself here, alone, behind reinforced doors where no one could hear her scream. And even if they could have heard her scream… no one would come. Half the staff at Arkham knew what Perce and his gang did to her. None of them cared. Most of them encouraged them. She had to kill them all. She had to murder every last bastard in Arkham, every patient, orderly and security guard. She had to bury this evil tomb within the gorge, had to destroy Arkham and rid herself of these flies. She had to be free! A year in this place had not killed her. It was because of this that she knew she must escape. Death had not come to relieve her of her torment, and she knew that no matter how much Perce threatened that "soon" he would kill her… he was lying. He enjoyed her too much, and she knew it. And as long as he was taking all of these precautions, she would never be able to take advantage of it.

She stared up at the window, so very high above, and watched as the moonlight began to fade into morning orange. A new day had come… and what would it bring her? She missed Victor Fries as her cellmate. When he had tormented her, he had relented beyond a certain limit of degradation. His machine had done most of not all the work for him. Perce, however, used her as a means of release, like an animal bred for such violations. Where was Fries now? Had he yet managed to produce the sacred cure to his wife's ailment? His miserable, frostbitten bride must be so happy, restored to life once more. Fries had to die. She would make sure that he was among the first of the new executions. She would murder him, and then _make sure_ that Nora Fries bit the big one. She would tear into Nora's stomach and rip out the woman's frozen entrails. She would force-feed them to Dirk… he liked eating women parts, after all. And that wretched Dr. Yorinda… Falcone's worshipper. She had murdered one of his top men during her first crusade against Gotham, Ivy had, and Falcone made sure to pay Dr. Yorinda to exact pain against Ivy at every available chance. Ivy would make sure to tie Yorinda to a table-top. First she would slowly saw off the woman's breasts. Then she would stick the woman with syringes in her eyes and arms and nose and mouth and every other imaginable area. She would leave Yorinda lying there in true agony, locking the door and sealing the room forever. The raghead Evan, who prayed to his god Jujo-Cazen for forgiveness every time he came for her, and the rough-housing, brute Mark would be given the same treatment: she would plant seeds within their bodies, and watch in glorious triumph as vines burst through them, clogging their throats and dissolving their organs from within.

But Perce… Perce would be given the ultimate punishment. She had wondrous, wondrous, far more brutal plans for Perce… He was, after all, her lover.

_Squeak! _Ivy spun around on the spot, her teeth barred. A small mouse, yet another visitor to her dark cave, had violated her presence, slipping in through a hole in the wall. Ivy let out a terrible, animalistic scream and leapt at the creature, swiping it into the air before it knew what was coming. She shoved the creature into her mouth and bit down hard, tearing off its head with her teeth. Ivy tossed the decapitated rat across the room and spat out the head. _Mammals! So many mammals! TOO MANY MAMMALS! _

Cambier the demon screamed from within. _Must escape this Hell! Must escape this Hell! Must escape this Hell!_

Half an hour later, when the sun had risen some more and the cell began to fill with light, the loud buzzer sounded off from the nearby door, and Ivy made her way, dressed in the only other set of clothes she owned, into the hall. An escort of seven security guards, all equipped with gas masks, made way for her to enter the center of their escort. The captain of the escort cuffed her at once. When she found her place, the eight of them silently marched towards the elevator, Ivy's head bent low as she contemplated what she could do to escape this Hell…

_Someone…anyone…someone has to slip up…someone I can seduce… _

The elevator ride down was also silent. They arrived down in the main section of Extreme Isolation, and the escort began their journey across the widespread yard towards Recreation and Consumption. This morning the grass felt very dewy under her bare feet. The sun was there but the weather was frigid. Snow had already begun to fall lightly on this winter morning. In two hours, the guards would let her walk around the courtyard near Isolation, where she could frolic for an hour about the flowerbeds. It was the only peace she knew in this place.

This early in the morning, the cafeteria was almost completely empty. Only three occupants, including Ivy, were seated at the tables, awaiting their usual breakfast of bacon, eggs and biscuits. One was a jumpy, blonde haired young woman who kept whispering to herself urgently, sure that someone was going to hear her grand plan of growing five feet taller, enough to jump over the heads of the guards when they came for her. The other was a very quiet, glaring man, his auburn hair messy, his eyes cold. He kept shooting dark glances over at the blonde woman, a savage expression upon his face. Neither Ivy nor he, however, could make a move to murder her. The guards would shoot them with darts if they stood up at all. There were at least eight of them on duty, all armed with precision rifles.

The large cafeteria hosted seventeen long tables for its massive chamber. There were doors on all sides, and now, through one of them, came a stream of kitchen employees carrying silver platters, covered with round top. One platter was placed before each inmate. The smell of bacon was pleasurable to Ivy's senses. Mammals were dead on this plate. It soothed her mind in the tiniest way. But she could not forget what Perce had done to her… she could not forget what damage had been inflicted.

She savagely mouthed the food, her wild, bloodied hair swaying to and fro in quick, jerky movements as her mind focused on the same sentence, over and over: _Kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him… _

"Mr. Crane," one of the guards called out from behind her. "Don't even think about it."

Ivy looked over her shoulder. The auburn haired man looked as if he had been about to rise, his focus on the blonde haired whisperer.

"Will you silence it?" Crane whispered at the guard who had aimed his rifle, jerking a finger in the woman's direction.

"Shut up, eat your food," the man ordered the good doctor. Another guard moved towards the blonde woman, and bent down beside her, talking to her in a low voice, while three of his co-guards aimed their rifles at her back, in case she tried anything. Ivy inhaled deeply. This place needed vines hanging from the ceiling, and flowers growing through the windows. It needed these mammals strung up by the necks, and a great floral throne for her to sit upon. She let her imagination wander, all of these things coming to mind as she finished her breakfast in silence. Her eyes casually drifted to a gun at the side of the head guard who stood in front of her, some ways away by the window. She imagined flinging herself at him, forcing a kiss onto him, and grabbing the gun from his side as he fell down dead. She imagined herself then shooting everyone in the hall. One day…just one day, she would manage…

At the back of her mind, her black heart held a deep hope. The letter still remained tucked away in her cell, safely hidden beneath the mattress. That wondrous fan letter, upon which one darling young woman had written a deep affection for her. She remembered the day she had received the letter, and the utter joy of the realization that she had a worshipper who had vowed to continue pursuing the growth of Eden. If only she could meet this A.R. and speak with her. She wanted to know the deepest, most personal thoughts of this fan, beyond:

_Dear Poison Ivy,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I can't tell you how difficult it was, getting the proper names to ensure that this reaches you safely. I had to bribe the right guys, and bribery doesn't always involve money, if you know what I mean. It is my dear hope that this letter reaches you unopened, but in the case that someone does peek, I will already have left Gotham City, and begun the Movement._

_I write to you now, Poison Ivy, to tell you this: I love you. I love you so very much. Quite psychologically speaking, I am obsessed with you. I've dyed my hair to match your red, it used to be blonde. I've also taken to wearing green contacts, as blue hardly seems fitting for your successor. Yes, that's right. I want you to know how much I admired your work. The day that truly got to me was when you displayed that so very beautiful video on GCN. The poisonings, the necrophilia, the ambitions, and the confidence… it's all so very arousing. I myself love nature, and I love chemistry. In fact, it's my major in college at the moment._

_Used to, when we were kids, we were asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Well, I have my answer at last: I want to be you, Poison Ivy. I'll take on your name for myself, and I will continue your work. The work of Mother Nature should never end. I will poison men in your name, and I will do my best to revive your studies into botany. I will strive to be a true successor. I've already killed people. My college professor, along with a few boys at my school… and I even strung their bodies up, just like you did on TV! Isn't that cool!? It was scary at first, but then, it started to become REALLY fun, lol. 3_

_I like, totally am going to become Poison Ivy, and I'm going to go on a massive killing spree, just like you. I've already dealt with my parents, as well, as they won't be able to interfere. I truly love you, and I truly admire you, Ivy. I hope that in time, I can come to live up to your unholy name. They may have your physical body locked away in Arkham, but your spirit shall live on inside of me. I am going to make you proud. I promise. I promise I will make you proud. I do, I promise._

_I promise._

_This letter will be short, but know that I shall be writing again. And soon. I am your dearest fan, your most adamant worshipper. You spoke to me in such a beautiful way, Poison Ivy. You have served us well… now, let me serve you. I will write again, sometime in the next month. I'll send some enclosed pictures of my new costume, too, I'm modeling it after you. Just know that I am here to carry on your name and legacy forever. And if I am blessed with a daughter, then she too will carry on your legacy. One day, the mammals of this Earth will be cleansed… and your paradise, your Eden, will be realized._

_I write this in love, my goddess,_

_A.R._

_P.S. =) _

Who were you, A.R., and were you really doing anything to ensure Eden's return?


	4. Chapter 4

"Alright, listen up," Heximal told Abigail promptly, after she had been seated at one of the charity drive tables. A large blueprint was laid out before her, detailing the layout of the Hippodrome. It was quite an elaborate set up, with many twisting under-passages and scaffoldings. "You enter through here," he said, prodding his finger at an employee back-door on the east side of the building. "We set you up with a tag. Your name is Betta Freeman, and you work as a loader on Dock Eleven and Dock Twelve. You're taking in inventory, as per the schedule, and as the new replacement, you have an alibi of getting lost down there in case you get caught wandering where you ought not to. Now, according to our mole at Dock Fourteen, the Myazakis are holed up in one of the abandoned sections beneath A-Wing. Used to have all sorts of costume rooms and prop storage down there. They don't use them anymore because of an asbestos danger. At least, that's the way it is on paper. Truth is, the Myazakis bought the section up as a safe hideaway. It's got tunnel connections to the sewers for quick getaways. You'll enter through Dock Twelve and meet the contact, he'll give you a walkthrough on the rest of the mission. You get in there, you off the eggrolls, and you get out. Make it clean, make it quiet. There's a show going on tonight, and we don't need gunshots drawing in the wrong kinds of attention."

"Wrong kinds of attention? Aren't half the police on Sionis's payroll?" Abigail questioned him, her eyebrow cocked in skepticism. She rattled her fingers impatiently against the table. "Or are you expecting bat wings and bird caws?"

"You bet your skinny ass we are," Heximal replied darkly. "You start a big firefight over at the Hippodrome, do some property damage, the Bat will show up. He'll kick your ass, send you off to some place nice and cold, and then Sionis will have _your_ head along with the Myazaki's. And even if you escape, you cause a scene and you can consider your business with Sionis dead. Maybe yourself either way. This has to be quiet. Personally, I think Sionis is being too damn soft on you, putting an inside man at the dock to help you do this. But he likes his girls more than he does his trusted officials. Either that, or he don't have much confidence in your abilities. Either way, he's taken an interest in you and he's giving you a chance, so don't fuck it up."

"Alright, I want a silencer, then. A silence pistol. And tear-gas. He has links to the police, he can get some…"

"No. He's authorized a silencer and a few other treats from Storehouse Five. The rest of this is up to you."

"Oh, really? Can I see him right quick, then?" She fingered the bottle of pheromones at her side. Heximal, frowning deeper, shook his head, his eyes narrowed. "Oh, no. That's right. The boss is too delicate for little old Heximal to let me in."

"The boss," hissed Heximal, "is busy. He's got his lady in there and they aren't to be disturbed unless it's an emergency. And this aint an emergency. Look…" He grabbed her by the shirt collar and yanked her forward, much to her joy. "I know you did something to him," he whispered, his lips so close to her ear. "I know you did something to the boss. I don't know what, but he's never been that susceptible. He won't tell me what kind of arrangement you made with him, but I've lawyers crack under pressure by old Sionis. Trained liars, you know. Whatever it is that you did or said to him, it aint right, and it aint natural. So you're not getting near him again until you have those Asians on a platter. You understand?"

"Yes, boss, I understand," Abigail whispered back, her teeth clenched as she studied the map carefully. "But ask yourself this: Where will you be when I return with those heads? Where will you be when I prove myself to him? Times change. So do positions of power. Do you hear the winds of change coming? Can you hear them knocking on the door, Heximal? They're coming for you." She jerked herself back, out of his grip, and lounged herself, smiling softly at his stony expression. "I have power over the winds of fate, Heximal. I think Sionis can see that, don't you? And when he sees it… he will make me the goddess over this institution. Whatever lady he has in there right now, she'll be forgotten in my presence. Before the end, Heximal…you will worship me as Mother Nature."

"The fuck you on about?" Heximal snapped, pulling out his pistol. He waved it in front of her face. "News flash, kiddo: _I_ am the fucking secondary to the Sionis movement. The fucking False Face Society can't stand on its damn toes without me being here to back up fuck-ups like you. That's right. You're a fuck up, and you haven't even made a move yet. I can see it. I can smell it. You're a slab of meat craving the extra mile, the extra chance to make a name for yourself in this godforsaken city, and you know what? You'll end up like all the other scumbags who tried to make themselves a name and ended up at the bottom of the river. Gotham's seen a lot of psychos and its seen a lot of kids, playing with toys and acting like they're grown up. But you know what? Just because you pick up a silencer," he hissed, holding up the one he had been assigned to give to her, "doesn't mean you know how to use it. Doesn't make you anyone in the eyes of Sionis. What makes you someone…is your ability to turn it into the future."

"Turn it into the future?" Abigail repeated. "You mean, make good on words?"

"Words are empty until you turn them into something. Are you?"

"Well, if I get killed in the raid, you've nothing to lose. And if I succeed, you've everything to lose. Can you accept that?"

"I say if you're going to change things, you'll hold up to your word. And when you do, I'll graciously accept it. But I'm a judge here. I need evidence before I can confirm a verdict. So are you ready?" He flipped the gun upward and caught it by the grip, offering it to her. She took it from him without hesitation. "Are you set to change my opinion of you?"

"Yes."

"And will you serve Sionis and the False Face Society effectively and without falter?"

"Yes, I shall. And I intend to return and make good on the delivery."

"Alright, then. Let's move."

"You think she can do it?" asked the young woman who sat on the armchair before Roman Sionis's desk. She kept throwing a rubber ball back and forth between her hands, intent on not stopping her built up momentum. Sionis was re-watching the video feed of her move on his doormen. The influence she had over them, that Abigail, was inhuman. He knew that she had some kind of power of himself. His senses returned fully, he was still getting over Abigail's influence. Sionis turned to look around at his mistress. Blonde, blue eyed and extremely slender, the young woman was dressed in black, tight leggings and a crimson crop top, centralized with a black diamond insignia. "You think she's capable of doing this by herself?"

"She'd better," said Sionis, turning his attention back to the video feed. It had been a near day since Abigail's arrival. He had let her bathe herself and set up lodgings in the back, and he absentmindedly flipped to a recording of her in the bathtub. She was so beautiful. He could not get her face out of his mind… it was like she still had some malevolent, unseen, haunting presence that refused to let up. Whatever power she had, it was the same as the original Poison Ivy's. Phermones… she had used pheromones… "If she doesn't, she'll die, either by my hand or the Myazakis. I'd prefer for her to succeed… I want to see her again." He squeezed the chair arms as he watched her soak herself with large lather-bits of soap, scrubbing her long, slender legs slowly… as if she knew she were being watched and wanted to make a show of it. Her eyes even passed slowly over where the camera was set up… but she could not have known it was there. Just a coincidence, it had to be. "She's good…at things."

"You mean whoopee!" exclaimed the blonde woman, tossing the ball aside and leaning forward, her lips puckering in a pitiful expression. "Oh, Mr. S… you don't like me anymore?" she cooed.

"Yeah, you're good enough," Sionis said in a bored tone, not taking his eyes off of Ivy. He had started, in the back of his mind, to already call her Ivy… even though the original Ivy was still alive and kicking. "But times change, Quinn. Times change. Too many sirens coming my way, you know. A man has a widespread appetite that changes with the season."

"You were always so exciting when it came to the seasons," cooed Quinn, blinking rapidly. "Come on, Roman baby…for old times' sake…" She spread out her arms and made kissing noises. Sionis held up his hand, demanding silence. She sighed, annoyed, and folded her arms in a silent tantrum.

"I didn't ask you here tonight, at such late notice, no less, because I wanted whoopee from you. I asked you here because I want to know what you think of her. The new girl."

"She's deadly," Quinn said at once. "She's good, too. I saw her walking out as I got here. Those doormen she attacked last night… they were ogling at her again, as if they completely forgot she poisoned their asses. She's got some attraction where there aint none needed, bossy. But I bet you called me in for more than just an evaluation: you want me to take her in."

"Oh?" Now Sionis turned to face her. He did not notice Abigail on the recording blowing a kiss at the camera. "That a fact?"

"You want her in the Poisoners Guild, don't you?"

Sionis looked pleased, nodding slowly with a dark smile. "I have a feeling you can make her feel right at home with you and Lissa."

"You think she's got what it takes?" Quinn looked skeptical.

"I know she's got what it takes. You saw her. And check this out." He pushed the morning paper forward, to let her see the headline: **HORROR IN GOTHAM: VICTIMS FOUND MUTILATED. **He waited patiently for her to scan the article, and enjoyed himself as her eyes widened here and there, darkly so. When she finished reading the article, she pushed it back to him and whistled loudly.

"She's got talent," Quinn admitted.

"Several countless murders that match this one have occurred in Bludhaven as well," said Sionis. "I know it's her. She's the serial killer they've been calling Arsenic. She's got quite a blood record on her hands. Been at this for almost a year. And now she's come to Gotham, requesting my help in freeing Pamela Isley from Arkham. She's…talented, yes, but she's also smart. She's very smart. Autopsy reports indicate that the poison found in the bodies of the Bludhaven victims… at least three of them had traces of a special hemotoxin that, according to police reports, matched the traces found in the bodies of almost every single one of Poison Ivy's original victims. It's the _same_ damn poison. You know what that means? Poison Ivy here… this Abigail Johnson… she must have been the ones who dug up those corpses? You remember that?"

"You mean the bodies of Ivy's victims? The ones found dug up in Gotham Memorial?"

"Yes, the same. Sounds to me like she actually extracted the damn poison from those bodies. She's good. She's smart. She can make it work. That's why I think she'd be a good candidate for the Guild. You and Lissa can show her the works, get her involved in your projects and give her a proper home. Aint no way in Hell she's gonna find a good home here at the food bank. But in the Guild, her talents can be amplified and they can be put to better use."

"And you intend to free Ivy from Arkham, when and if she succeeds in this Myazaki case?"

"I'm a man of my word. She wins this round and brings me those heads and that ten grand, I'll give her Ivy. But I want her deep in the organization, Harleen. I want you to mentor her. Take her under your wing, get her into the Guild, and take her on a few missions. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it, you know me, bossy," Harleen Quinn whispered, drumming her fingers lightly on the desk before she began to stroke his hand lovingly under hers. "Of course, I wouldn't mind asking my own favors, now, in exchange for doing this…"

"I understand and yes, I'm prepared to do what's needed. I'll give you the usual and a bottle of Temptations Aisle." He reached down beneath his desk and plopped the amber liquid down on the table before her. Her eyes went wide with utter delight, and Quinn unleashed an earsplitting shriek of glee.

"Oh, Mr. S!" She launched herself forward, snaking across the empty part of the desk and rolling forward into a crouch at his side, promptly throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek with most intense meaning. "You make a girl feel good, you do," she whispered into his ear. "You know what she wants to hear."

"Yeah, I do." He gave her a firm shove, and she took the hint to back away, snatching up the $5000 bottle of wine as she did. "Now, you take a sip and then I expect you to take her in, if she comes back."

"But…she hasn't come back, has she? Not yet? She's just left? Why give this to me now?" Quinn shook the bottle hard. Sionis smiled lightly.

"Consider it my faith in her success."

"Do you want me to go with her?" Quinn's voice suddenly turned dark and serious. "I can follow behind, you know. Maybe make things easier for her…"

"I want you to observe her, Harls. I want you to observe her and tell me what you see when you see it. Be an audience member, not a stagehand. You understand?"

"You've got it, boss," Quinn cooed. She flicked her wrist, and from a shirt there suddenly protruded a six inch blade of titanium steel. She began to unstopper the bottle.

"Not yet. That's strong Dubian. You need your head clear for this one." He picked up a phone at his side and dialed 3 one time. As Quinn reluctantly lowered the bottle, Sionis heard Heximal's voice on the other end.

"Yes, Mr. Sionis?"

"Heximal, keep the plant inside of its pot until I give the word. I'm sending in a watcher. I'll give you a call when she's allowed to enter."

"How much time?"

"Twenty minutes." Sionis hung up, and looked at Quinn with a firm expression. "Give her your time and attention, and don't screw this up. Get going."

"I can't have any fun at all with the Asians, can I?" Quinn's lip trembled in mock sadness. Sionis shook his head.

"No, you can't. I want to see what she's made of."

"Fine," Quin sighed, rushing forward, grabbing the chair by the arms and leaping cleanly over it, her legs spread wide in a most unnaturally flexible way. "I'm taking the bottle with me!"

"Don't drink it yet!" Sionis exclaimed after her as she vanished into the hall. "It's strong stuff!"

The door shut behind her, and Quinn was already well on her way. The young woman rushed forward with all intense haste and energy, leaping over the heads of two of Sionis's doormen, who stared in disbelief at the woman's stamina. Quinn did not stop running until she had reached her Ferrari, which was already waiting for her, toasty and gassed for extreme outing. Leaping into the driver's seat, she put the car into drive and sped off, tearing down the street with a high-pitched shriek of tires, positively burning into the gravel of the road as if she herself were an earthquake. She ran down everyone who happened to be in the road at the time, not stopping or turning for anyone as she bolted down the highway, the wind whipping at her face, which held an expression of utmost joy.

"Wheeeeeeeeee!" she shrieked through the whipping waves of wind, as a homeless man disappeared beneath her tires. People were screaming, the lucky ones tossing themselves out of the way in time. Predictably, it did not take long at all for the sirens to off, and for those flashing red and blue lights to appear from behind. The cop car was slow to keep up with the pace of her car, and admittedly, she would lose him soon enough, if she had desired to keep driving. But Quinn detested the police as much as anyone else did in this part of town, and thus, she pulled the Ferrari to a jerking stop at the side of the road, bringing the car to a halt in front of a 24/7 bakery. The smell of fresh donuts satisfied her well enough, and she pleasured her senses to the delicacies within as the shaking, wide-eyed man of forty stepped out of the cop car, his gun aimed at the back of her head as he moved forward slowly.

"Ma'am, do you know how _fast_ you were going!?" he demanded, his gun shaking as hard as he was. Quinn looked around, grinning, brushing her hair out of her face.

"130 miles per hour, officer!" she replied at once, pointing excitedly at the speedometer. He came up beside her and held out his hand.

"License, now. Registration, now!"

"Okay, okay, geez," Quinn hissed impatiently, reaching into a purse in the shotgun seat.

"This is beyond a ticket, missy. Jailtime, that's what this is," the cop told her, his face crimson and stony.

"Alright, alright, here," she said, holding out the identification card on one end, her finger lightly resting over the picture of herself. The cop reached to take it, placing his hand on the other end. As soon as he did, Quinn calmly pressed down on her photograph. The cop jerked, gasping as he pulled his finger back, but the needle was already sliding back into the card. Quinn blew him a kiss, and promptly sped away, leaving the cop standing there, stone still. He stared outward, blankly, his jaw jittering, his body limp as the toxin passed through his system.

And then, he began to laugh. He began to laugh so hard, so desperately hard, as if laughing were getting him fortunes by the second based on intensity. His eyes bulged, as did his veins, which were blackening. His mouth stretched out in an inhumane way, his teeth barred in a mad, mad grin. The police officer kept laughing and laughing, even when patrons of the bakery ran out to check on him. He kept laughing, unmoving from that spot, until at last the toxin claimed his life, and he fell dead onto the sidewalk, that unnatural, deathly, mad grin still etched upon his features…


	5. Chapter 5

Abigail Robinson walked into the docking bay with confidence, her smile evident and strong to all who saw her. Heximal had dressed her in the orange jumpsuit that the other Hippodrome employees donned, so much so that it, to her, resembled a prison garb. She let her crimson hair flow long and free, her chest exposed with a lack of proper buttoning, and every man on the dock that she passed, she casually sprayed pheromones in the air around them, making them drool after her…making them desire her on the spot… Their entrancement, such a wondrous entrapment, would play to her advantage soon enough.

Her tag read Betta Freeman. That's who she was, and who she must be for now. The contact, Willis, or so he was called tonight, was waiting for her near a loader, leaning against the machine and puffing a cigar in silence. From above them, the roar of the crowd was audible and strong. Tonight, the Raging Circuholics were storming the dome stage, leaping through fire and performing daring escape stunts with crocodiles in tanks and a cage filled with poisonous snakes. Abigail silently wished she could be up there, watching the exciting spectacle for herself. By the sounds of the crowd, things were intensely phenomenal up there.

Willis, a balding man in his thirties with dark sunglasses that obscured his eyes completely, looked up as she approached. She saw him lift a hand, nodding.

"Good to have you onboard, Betta," he said calmly in a thick Irish accent. Dublin, perhaps. "Aye, I've been asked by the boss to give you a heads up on how we do things here at the Hippodrome. Have you gone over the manual for operating the machinery?"

"Yes, I have, and I'm ready to learn everything else. Give me a heads up." The magic words. Willis nodded, jerking his head to the right, and he casually strolled away, Abigail following closely behind. The two of them went around a ceiling-tall shelf of hundreds of boxes filled with stage supplies, decorations, cleaning essentials… The smell of the chamber was high in popcorn and corndogs, the scents wafting down through the ventilation to tempt the workers down in the lower levels of Hell. When they were alone and near an elevator, Willis turned to her face and spoke quietly.

"Don't think for a moment that I'll hesitate to rat you out if you're caught," he warned her, dropping the fake Irish accent. Willis's real voice was more akin to a centralized Brooklyn. "One slip up, and it's the noose for you. We got that clear?"

"Yes, we do," Abigail sighed, preparing to spray the pheromones. She had perfumed herself with the stuff before coming, but even so, a little extra caution never hurt. She needed to have control of everything and everyone. "So I take this elevator here down one level, and enter the right-side door with the CLOSED OFF sign?"

"Yeah, that's right. You're going to enter from the east wing corridor, but you're gonna need to pass the security check in the elevator. The Myazakis had that section closed off, and only valid security identification will let the elevator go down. I have a card here." He held it up. "Don't ask me how I got it. I don't want to talk about it. You use this in the elevator, but when you get down there, you're still going to have to deal with the sentry. There's a guard posted down there at all times, armed with an Ak-47. Heximal supplied you with a silencer, right? And a pistol? He's around the corner once you get down there. He won't shoot you right off, of course. He's officially employed by the Hippodrome on top of working under the Myazakis, so he'll give you the old "You're not allowed to be down here," speech and tell you to be on your way. You'll need to act fast, while his weapon is lowered. Sionis has no quips about you killing whoever's needed, as long as you don't touch the False Faces. Like me," he added pointedly.

"Oh, don't worry, I've an army I'm bringing along." She shook the large bag that she wore on her back with a smile. It rattled evidently with a grand degree of supply. "Sionis doesn't care how I kill them or how many die in the attempt, as long as you, a False Face, remain safe?"

"That's the deal, but he told you not to make a fuss. No one is to know what's going on. People hear heavy gunfire, there's gonna be a panic."

"Which is why we're been scheduled for the 9:15 Gunpowder Pandemic," Abigail replied promptly, holding up her watch. "In five minutes, the Circuholics will begin their firearms part of the show. We take advantage of the fifteen minute time-slot, use the shots and the fireworks for audio cover."

Willis looked impressed. "Good girl," he said slowly. "You've done your research, then. I like it when one of you assholes actually do your homework. Alright, then: The Myazakis have a hold-out beneath Prop Room 3. Look for the mirror, it's two way, and will revolve if you push it on the right side."

"Right side. Got it. And security cameras?"

"Right above the door," Willis shrugged. "Just one, of course. We're leaving it up to you to deal with it. I'm just here to prod you in the right direction."

"Fair enough. So, then…shall I begin?"

"Yes. Here. These are for you." He handed her a silver identification card reading "Bottom X33287," and a single clip for the silencer. Of course, the silencer in her possession was already filled, but Abigail had her confidence about him. She was confident that by the completion of this mission, she would not have fired a shot. She was Poison Ivy, and the weapons of the mammals only befitted her so far. This cold metal thing that Heximal had handered to her… there were slower, more painful and more erotic ways to murder someone. "Get going." He jerked his head at the elevator door. Abigail stroked his chin with her finger.

"It's a shame," she cooed, her lips close to his. "It's such a shame I can't bring harm to you… you would have made a good soldier." She kissed him on the chin, and turned away, waving her rump against him as she went. Willis leaned hard against the wall, his eyes closed for a moment as the pheromones began to kick in. His mind went fuzzy… even if there his chin was suddenly feeling very hot.

Abigail walked into the middle of the room, and slowly began to strip off the jumpsuit. Employees all around turned to stare, their bewildered expressions evident. Willis watched with rough, ragged breath. The jumpsuit gave away, and those who surrounded her beheld a most beautiful, gratifying sight. Bare, slender legs wrapped in freshly cut strands of poison oak, the reds on the leaves strongly complimenting her hair. They entwined every limb, trailing a little ways past her glistening nails, which had recently been coated with a most alluring, shining green oil, the smell of which was strong and bitter. She removed her boots and was left standing free and alive, her body only covered in a simple, tightly fitted, dark green one-piece. Everyone had stopped now and was ogling at her, and the men who had already been affected earlier by the pheromones were moving forward slowly.

Without a seconds hesitation, Abigail raised the bottled pheromones and held down a continuous spray, letting it rain over her and all around the room in a stream of the most sweet smelling, alluring form. Now the men in the room, ten in all, were crowding her, their eyes wide, sweat falling from their foreheads. They could not take their eyes off of her. They were zombified beyond their capability. She had decided to finally take everything into her own hands, and show the world who she was and what she could do. She touched her lips lightly, feeling the poison on them and hoping that tonight was the night.

Abigail had spent the entire day locked away in her quarters, pulling out all the stops with her portable chemical stock. Mixtures of snake venoms and plant toxins had saturated her clothes and hair and tabletop, the room had smelled heavily of the most bitter, foul-scented anomalies… She had went out back behind the food bank tower, along the bank of the river, and had captured a few frogs. Her experiments on the frogs had yielded quick deaths, and analysis of their frail bodies had shown her that the venom samples had been efficiently amplified with concoctions of V-H8, a compound derived from the Dressfire Flower. The Dressfire had been yet another important sample that she had stolen from the labs back in Bludhaven. It was a deadly little gem derived from the Eastwind Fields in South America… not so far from where the goddess had earned her Ascension…

Creating a physically oiled compound had been both difficult and dangerous. Her lips were coated with a bottom layer of C-x9, a compound of thin, thin plastic and rubber, to protect her own lips from the deadly poison that now coated them. Tonight had to be the night. Tonight, her kiss would kill, and it would kill very painfully. She would be one with Poison Ivy. She would murder with lips. She had to know that it was going to work. The male Myazaki…

She wrapped her arms around a man to he right, stroking his beard lovingly in hand as she breathed sweetly scented breath into his nostrils.

"I want you," she whispered, touching him gently but firmly below. "I need you… will you keep me safe?" Her tongue moistened the side of his neck. The man's knees bent, his breath intensifying, his trembling hands desperately grasping around her, pulling her close to him.

"Who…are you…?" he whispered into her ear, tears falling down his enchanted eyes.

"Poison." Abigail whispered back, rubbing his erection against her leg. "Poison Ivy…"

She stepped backwards and spread out her arms, moaning loudly as she presented her vine entwined arms. "Come to me… all of you. Touch me."

And they did. All ten of them. They surrounded her like a magically enchanted flock and touched her, felt her presence beneath their hold, knew she was real. And they desired her. Abigail turned slowly, blowing a kiss to Willis, who had fallen to his knees, his expression beyond enthralled. Abigail threw her arms around two men at her sides, and slowly began to march forward with them. "Come, all of you," Abigail sighed passionately to them all. "Come with me. There's someone below. Someone who wants to hurt me. To kill me. Protect me. Protect me, all of you." As she said, her own natural pheromones began to intensify those that she wore, and she intensified the intensified, spraying the fumes in a powerful wave that washed over them all and made them positively enraptured by her existence. They were all breathing so raggedly, so intently, like dogs who had run a marathon without stopping. They all tripped over one another to keep up, and Willis stared up at her as if she were a goddess when she passed. She brought them into the elevator, compressing them tightly against her….wanting to kiss them…wanting to murder them…. She swiped the card at the front, and pressed the button to bring them down.

As they descended, the elevator moving slowly under the weight of them all, she took her bag from the side and handed the silencer to a large, dark-skinned man, who took it with a zombified, dazed expression.

"Shoot the man in the corridor," she whispered, holding his face in her hands. "Shoot him, and I'll kiss you."

"Yes…" the man breathed hard, his eyes positively bulging out of his sockets. "Yeeesssss…."

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slid open. Abigail marched them forward, still holding onto her two original, enchanted escorts, only now one of them held a silencer in hand. They turned the corner in the dark, damp-smelling, dimly lit corridor, and there he was: short, fat and ugly, the Myazakis' bodyguard looked up in surprise from his seat on the floor, his phone dropping from his hand in the shock of their sudden arrival. The idiot had not even been holding his rifle in hand.

"Hi there," Abigail whispered seductively, an evil smile on her evil lips. "Murder him," she told the man with the silencer. The man raised the gun without hesitation.

"God, no!" the bodyguard screamed, reaching for his rifle. _Doot! Doot! Doot! _Three shots in quick succession, and the man fell over dead, the bullets lodged in his forehead and heart. Blood flickered up with each shot. Abigail laughed darkly, sauntering forward and using his body as a stepladder to reach the stationary security camera above the door. She twisted hard and bent the camera backwards, smashing down on the lens with a fist. The lens cracked and broke, little shards cutting into Abigail's hand. She sucked on her own blood dreamily. Enjoyably.

She fell down beside the dead man and stroked his chin lovingly. "You're plucked," she whispered, and she produced her knife. For the next minute, Abigail carved out the man's eyes, and when she had finished, she gently placed them in the man's pocket, making a note to come back for them. They were needed for the sacrifice.

"Come," she commanded of her slaves, who obeyed her without a second thought. She was alive. She was truly alive, her heart exploding with such utter joy, with such malevolent pride. They _belonged_ to her. She had become Poison Ivy in influence. Now, she had to become Poison Ivy in toxicity.

"Kiss me," the man with the silencer begged, reaching out for her desperately. "Please kiss me! Kiss me, oh God, kiss me!"

"Me too!" someone from behind cried.

"Kiss me!" more and more began to chant.

Abigail grinned. "Soon, lovers. Soon. We have more blood to spill. There are two individuals that await us. Asians, they are. A man and a woman. We're going to find them… and when we do, you are all to kill them. Lay waste to them. After that…you shall _have_ me," she promised darkly. To emphasize her point, she cradled her bodice arousingly.

The old prop room as empty as could, removed long ago of all clothing and weaponry used in the Hippodrome shows. But the mirror was there. The lone, human sized mirror built into the wall of the desolate room. She admired her reflection in it after flicking on the lights, admiring her perfect body with a longing. She _looked_ like Poison Ivy.

"The time has come," she whispered to herself, and she pushed the right side of the mirror forward. The thing swung open at her touch, revealing a miniscule hall with a short stairway at the end. A strand of gold lamps and Christmas lights lit the way down the passage. "Go ahead of me," she commanded of them all. "Go ahead of me and kill anyone you find. Go!"

Her slaves ran forward at once, intent on obeying their goddess's every order. She could not help herself. She began to laugh with very audible, fierce joy, her arms above her head once more as they rushed past, enslaved and empty of who they were. Mammals: so easy to manipulate. She unzipped the bag she had carried with her as she walked.

The stairway down led to a wide chamber that had clearly once been a service tunnel. An old, broken down elevator was built at one side. A door stood at either end of the corridor, each marked with the level and part of the sewers that they led to. In this chamber, a wide collection of bookshelves had been set up, surrounding a circular couch and television station. Monitors were piled on top of monitors and there stood a table covered in ammunition boxes of several different kinds, along with an open briefcase of recently acquired money. Next to the elevator was set up a table with monitors that had been connected to the security camera, which were currently black.

Abigail saw the twins first, seconds before both turned around from their seating on the couch, aware that their lair had suddenly been introduced to a large mob of pheromone-controlled slaves. They were exactly as she had imagined them to be: beautiful, perfect in every physical way, the woman a goddess in form, the man a double for upkept prodigies. The television had been playing _Mary Poppins, _but the screen suddenly exploded as the man who Abigail had given the silencer to shot off a round, missing Hatsumoto and hitting the television instead. The Asian man let out a wild cry, looking frantic at the arrival of the slaves, who were charging with their own wild screams. Takada spun around in her seat, taking aim with a handgun. She fired off two rounds, and two of the forerunners, including the man with the silencer, fell backwards, blood spraying from their chests as they fell. Hatsumoto snatched up a semi-automatic rifle from the floor, and managed to fire off three rounds before he was swarmed by the oncoming crowd. He managed to take down two of Abigail's slaves. Six remaining, Abigail took no hesitation in her master plan. As expected, her pawns had distracted the twins from her presence at the door, allowing her to enact the true plan. She reached into the bag and pulled out the weapon.

It was a foot-long cylinder of glass, inside of which was a very active, swirling gray fog. Chuckling softly to herself, she tossed the cylinder across the room, letting it smash right at Takada Myazaki's feet. The gray fog within exploded outward, engulfing the woman and the remaining soldiers from Abigail's distractions. She heard the woman's scream and felt pleasure at the sound. She heard the screams from her own slaves and found those sounds even more pleasurable. The gray fog surrounded the small group and hid Takada and the other victims from view, even as the gunshots from Hatsumoto still went off, and the last bodies of Abigail's victims fell. As Abigail had planned from the start, the men she had enraptured from the storehouse had all been killed by the twins and by her cylinder, which was slowly dissipating the cloud of Nyrox-5. The Nyrox had been invented months ago, but this was the first time Abigail had used the poisonous cloud she had created to murder an entire group. She had originally tested it on two children back in Bludhaven, and while their quick, agonous deaths had been beautiful, this… this eradication of an entire group of mammals meant so much more to her.

She kept her distance, allowing the flaying, jerking arms in the mist to slow to halts. She would allow them all to die before making her move over to where Hastumoto cowered on the floor in fear, as his sister's intensely pained, terrible screams permeated the air with such song-like strength.

_That's right_, thought Abigail. _Scream. Screaaaaaammmmmmm….._

She reached into her bag now, and pulled out a second canister, this one filled with a thinner fog, light yellow in color. Xien-9. She had created this paralytic within a day, just for Hatsumoto. She tossed the canister across the room where he lay, tightening her legs as heat enveloped her. This ordeal was beyond erotic. Above, far above, the sounds of gunshots were going off in the stadium. She had timed everything perfectly. The goddess was as good as free from Arkham.

The yellow gas exploded and engulfed the terrified Myazaki. Abigail sat down on the mini-stairway and waited patiently, rubbing her feet absentmindedly as the gasses finished their work. The Nyrox had fully dissipated by now. All that remained were the corpses of Abigail's victims, Takada Myazaki and the slaves alike, their skin blackened and pruned in. Their eyes had melted away in the sockets. Their skin hung limply off of their bones. The poisonous gas had utterly de-humanized everything about them. It was fitting to exist in this way. These people had finally served a purpose: they had entertained her in their demise.

After several minutes of quiet relaxation, Abigail stretched out, brushing her hair with tender care, and finally stood, making her move. She blew kisses to the corpses that surrounded her, ensuring to leave her footprints through the spilled blood. The blood felt so cool and refreshing underfoot. Hatsumoto lay still, unmoving and staring up, barely able to make his head jerk. His eyes widened when she approached, and he struggled to form words, "What…did…you…do…?" he gasped through compressed lungs.

Abigail smiled sweetly down at him, picking up her blood-saturated foot and pressing down on his mouth. He closed his eyes in disgust as she painted his face with the blood. When she had finished with her humiliation, she fell forward, crawling onto him and gazing down lovingly into his wide, shocked eyes. Abigail lightly stroked his chin with her fingers, tracing a line of green liquid from the chin to his left cheek.

"I've been waiting for this moment for so long," she whispered, her voice serious and intense. She closed her eyes, breathing in deep, so nervous about her first time doing this. She did not see the dark shadow crawling across the ceiling, slowly slithering in the high shadows, holding a small camcorder in hand. From the dark ceiling, Harleen Quinn watched in fascination, analyzing every body with extreme detail. Her stalking had yielded such interesting results. Abigail Robinson was cruel and extremely deadly, a genius in her dark craft, talented to an evil fault. She had trapped the souls of those poor fools on the dock and led them knowingly to their deaths. She had performed magnificently. She zoomed in on Abigail and Hastumoto now, eager to see what would happen next.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Abigail told the Asian man. "And you're going to feel pain rupture in your stomach and intestines. It will burn you from within, making you nauseous. Your gag reflex will be tripped but your throat will swell up and close. You will choke on poison. You will choke on death. Your throat will corrode. Your organs will shrivel. You will die an agonizingly beautiful death. It will be quick…but not quick enough." She lowered her head. "And I'm going to fucking enjoy every-last-moment of it…"

"No…" cried Myazaki weakly, tears falling down his cheeks. Quinn grinned, eager for her to get a move on. This was going to be exciting. She would add this to the collection of "Best Kills" later on, back at the house.

Abigail forced her lips against Hatsumoto's and kissed him so deeply, so passionately. She did not moan. She did not make a sound. She let the poison on her lips do the talking. Her lips swiveled against his and then sucked his tongue in, saturating it with the venom. Hatsumoto began to scream, water flooding from his eyes, but she did not relent, Abigail. She kept going and going, getting hotter and hotter as she killed him. As she kissed him, she dug her fingers into his eyes. His screaming intensified. The poisoned nail polish burned through his corneas and destroyed his sight, rendering him blind as he died in the most intense, burning agony. Quinn captured every detail of the murder on film, crawling more along the way to get more footage of Myazaki's face. His veins had turned a swamp-green, and were bulging. His skin had turned pale brown. Green fluid began to dribble from his tear ducts, flowing down in an unnatural falls.

Abigail pulled back, breathing hard, aroused to climax by the murder. Myazaki was deader than she could have ever imagined. His limp body felt so good beneath her. She bent her head back as she reached full orgasm, needing no sex to get her kicks. Inside, she felt an invisible spirit overtake her soul. She could feel Mother Nature, the goddess Poison Ivy, embracing her very soul, creating a new child from an old shell. In that moment, Abigail Robinson made a silent vow, forever cursing the name "Abigail Robinson" to fire. She swore her soul to the goddess, swearing emergence from this life, embracing Ascension, embracing re-birth. Abigail Robinson faded away into darkness, and in her place, there was only Poison Ivy, as she now fully appreciated in utter recognition.

Quinn was very pleased. She crawled silently back into the hall, dropped down in a cat-like grace, and proceeded slowly down the way towards the elevator. As she walked, she flicked a switch on the recorder, and an image of Roman Sionis's face appeared on the screen. He smiled, a very satisfied look on his features.

"Did you get it, then?" Quinn asked as she took the elevator up.

"Yes, I got it," Sionis assured her, nodding. "You did very well. And she…she did magnificently. I have no words to describe it." He laughed nervously. "She has a place in Gotham, and in the family. Give the boys a heads up and have them waiting for her in the storeroom. You, on the other hand, go to the Guild-house and prepare a place for her. I'm gonna have the boys take her there. I'll be waiting for you there myself, to welcome her into the family. Have Lissa cook us a nice dinner, huh?"

"Whatever you say, Mr. S."

Sionis switched off the live feed, and Quinn sighed. So… the new Poison Ivy in town had finally made her mark, and would be joining the Poisoners Guild. They now had a trio. Things were fixing to get very, very interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

Poison Ivy was with the air, and the air was her absolute. She was breathing, and was as breath. Life was her every movement. She rested comfortably against the window of the car as Heximal drove her to the Poisoners Guild home-base, her dreamy thoughts centered on the face of goddess, and how it would feel to soon be in the goddess's arms as the divine one showered her praise upon the head of her follower. Ivy wanted to touch the goddess's skin, to smell the goddess's hair and be touched in return by her brilliance. She wanted to sit for her hours and tell the goddess of her sacrificial murders, of the pleasure of murdering someone for the first time with a poisonous kiss.

Takada Myazaki's head rested in the shotgun seat next to Heximal, who kept shooting awkward glances down at the thing. The poison that Abigail had unleashed into the room had left the head inhumane in appearance. Hatsumoto, meanwhile, rested in Abigail's lap, or at least, his own head did. It was positioned upward, staring with eyeless sockets, its nose missing. Abigail stroked his hair softly in hand, attracted by him in this form. She tenderly traced the lines of toxin that saturated the veins in his face. Absentmindedly, she placed the head between her legs, shakily compressing it.

It felt good. She clawed at his scalp, feeling a rushing, hot sensation in her body, aroused by this evil deed. Gently, inhumanely, she began to pleasure herself with the head.

"Hey," Heximal said quietly, tapping the steering wheel impatiently, "got a question for you?"

Abigail, her eyes closed in intense, sexual satisfaction, only moaned erotically in response. Heximal looked in the rearview window, and studied her face closely. He looked around fully, and saw what she was doing with Myazaki's remains.

"Hey!" he suddenly hissed, reaching backwards and yanking the head by the hair, ripping it away from her with a look of disgust on his face. "What the hell are you doing!?"

Her eyes snapped open. A look of flame and ice, all thrown into one poisonous mixture. Her gaze could steal souls as she looked at Heximal and wished death upon him. She should grab him. She should murder him.

"_What_!?" she snapped viciously, pulling her switchblade out of her pocket and unsheathing it.

Heximal angrily tossed the head next to Hatsumoto's sister, and stared forward as he drove, shaking with fury. "You really are a disgusting creature," he said quietly. "What kind of sick shit is that? And in my car, too… damn! I want to know something right now, freak: What _are_ you!? How the hell did you pull all of this off!?"

"Oh, little old me?" Abigail cooed softly, playing the ditzy Southern bell on her draw. She laughed loudly, coldly, every resounding fracture of sound laced with cruelty. "I succeeded because I _fucking enjoyed_ it. I was merciless, a warrior with bloodlust to fit an entire Hun army. I was animalistic in the approach, wild and untamed without limitation. I was with her, and she was with me. The goddess. It's simply that."

"Fuck you," Heximal snapped, his hand twitching as he eyes the revolver on his dashboard. It glinted in the street lights invitingly, begging him to put a bullet in her. But he relented. The boss would murder him if he did anything to the bitch. "You can't always get away with spouting that horse-crap. I just want the technicalities. How did you manage it?"

"How? A combination of poison bombs and my natural charms. That enough information for you, dipshit?"

Heximal slammed his foot on the break, bringing the car to a violent, jolting halt. Abigail remained calm in her seat, her seatbelt keeping her stable and secure. She was smiling madly, anticipating an attack… a reason to kill… The man turned in his seat and flicked on the light, his eyes alive with fire and terror.

"What-the-fuck-did-you-call-me?" Heximal whispered in a deadly tone, pronouncing each word more silently than the last. Abigail leaned forward, her knife raised in front of him.

"I called you a dipshit," she whispered back, blowing onto his nose. "Did you hear me that time, dipshit?"

Heximal's fist raised in the air, about to put a crater into Abigail's face. Abigail readied herself, the knife arcing down…

_"In a New York minute…oo ee oo… everything can change!" _Heximal's cellphone went off at that moment, vibrating violently in his pocket. The boss's ringtone… He jerked backwards, pulling the phone out at once and flipping it open, not taking his eyes off of her.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, it's me. Where's my A-List candidate? Harleen and Lissa are waiting."

I'll tell you where she is. She's in the backseat of my car, about a rat's ass away from a cat's mouth from getting an abyss put through her face." Abigail raised her eyebrows, impressed by the man's creativity. She kissed up at him from afar, winking. Heximal raised a finger, and a deadly one at that.

"I doubt it," Sionis said confidently. "Because I'm sure you don't feel like sleeping on a bed of coals tonight. You know, like Manson did last week…"

Heximal closed his eyes, shuttering at the thought of what Sionis had ordered of Manson the previous Wednesday. Manson had learned the price of being a mole for Maroni. A bed of coals had not been good for his complexion.

"No, I don't…"

"Then I'm sure there won't be even a quiver of tear in the girl's face when she gets here, say, in, oh, I don't know?" Sionis paused for a moment. "1:15… Okay, how about fifteen minutes? 1:30 on the dot."

"I'm almost there, boss," Heximal sighed, turning around and starting the car once more. Abigail huffed, satisfied. Sionis, you god-like stallion, you… He had her back. The pheromones must have been very strong indeed. She would make sure to dose him again. He was going to become her utility.

"Good. Put her on."

Heximal jerked his hand backwards, coming close to hitting her as he shoved the phone into her face. Abigail grabbed it quickly and spoke in a seductive manner to Sionis. "Hey, there…"

"Miss Thorma," Sionis began, addressing her by one of the aliases he had given her. "I need you to listen good. Quinn's got a place set up here at the safehouse, and her and Lissa will be taking you in. But you need to make sure you're willing to follow the rules. I'm gonna try to fill you in before you get here. First, Harleen Quinn is in charge. Her rules apply on a daily basis, and all appeals for official jobs go to her. If it involves or benefits the False Face Society, she'll relay it to me. Tell me you understand."

"Hard on, stallion," Abigal sighed passionately, rubbing her leg dreamily. She liked his voice. It was dark and very commanding. She heard him pause for a moment, his breathing getting slightly heavier, and she smiled, knowing she had hit an erective curve.

"A-anyway… Quinn's the boss, and I expect loyalty. Second, you work as a team in all jobs. I'm going to be needing your services quite a bit, Ivy. I compiled a list of hits while you were out. Men I need taken out of the picture. When I give you a job, you work out details for completion with Quinn and Heximal, depending upon the job. They set the deadlines, dead-drop locations for payment, all the good stuff. Clear?"

Abigail groaned to herself, glancing up at Heximal. Even from behind, she could see the shit-eating grin on his face. If he was setting up conditions for the jobs, he would get his revenge for her disrespect. "Clear," she said quietly.

"I sense hesitation. What's wrong?"

Good perception, Roman. "It's just… I feel like he doesn't like me…" She said this sweetly, softly, playing to the victim once more, empowering his sense of protection over her. Heximal shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yeah, he hates your guts, but I'll have a word with him on setting fair terms. Now, the third rule: Our secrets don't exist. They're with the grave. Tell imaginary stories and you join those secrets."

"Roger, captain."

"Fourth: We've had a long-lasting standoff with the Bat for years now. The Bat's given us a lot of Hell and we prefer not to do anything that draws him in. What do you know about the Bat, really? You offered me his head…how?"

Abigail considered Sionis's words. The Bat…

The Bat was a horror-figure in Gotham's underworld. He was definitely real. He had saved the city countless times from a wide range of dangerous circumstances. And she had even seen him in person. He had come to Bludhaven to investigate her murder spree. He was a freak, unlike her, driven by revenge rather than glory. It was an overdone cause that would lead to his death. And he had to die. Oh, yes, he had to die. Abigail would sacrifice him to the goddess.

"I know he must be dealt with," Abigail replied darkly. She clawed at her crotch intently. "I have to murder him, in the most painful way imaginable, and sacrifice him to the goddess Poison Ivy. I know he's a man who can be manipulated. Everyone's seen the footage from the rainforest ball last year. The goddess wove him under a spell of infatuation and almost killed him. I will follow in her ways. I will lure him into a trap. It will be a fun trap."

"Tell me the details."

I see bodies lined up in the street. Bodies lined up, leading into the first national bank of Gotham. A breadcrumb trail for him to follow."

"You mean my bank? No, I don't think so. We don't get publicity by turning it into a House of Horrors."

"Oh, Roman, a girl can dream, can she not? Your bank is fitted with intense security. Perfect for trapping a bat. Laser grids fitted with pulse magnifiers and machine guns hidden in various cubicles."

"How do you know about that!?" Sionis demanded, suddenly sounding startled. Heximal was looking wide-eyed up into the mirror.

Abigail sighed. "Because your main man told me. Willis. I…thoroughly interrogated him before we left the Drome."

"Thoroughly?"

"You'd be amazed at what a heavy dose of my pheromones and a decent hand-job could get me. Willis squealed some of your dirtiest secrets. And I'm a gardener. I like dirt. He told me about Beta-7. The shipments for advanced security came from the Gellus Cooperation in Bangkok, correct?"

"Willis told you all that!?"

"Everything."

"I'll have him shot. He released secrets without authorization."

"If you don't mind, let me. I have a date set up with him, you see. We're meeting at the Rollar-Dome this weekend. He's going to teach me to ice-skate, isn't that sweet?"

Sionis was breathing hard now. "I have to say… I am…deeply impressed."

Abigail yawned. "All in a day's work for a competent girl."

"You're telling me… alright, I want you to kill Willis. Make it a painful death. We'll discuss this later, in private. Look… I don't know much about you, other that you have vicious skill and a vicious appetite to use that skill. I like you because of it. So I'm going to give you my faith. My trust is sacred. You are honored, Poison Ivy."

"As am I."

"Alright, give the phone back to Heximal."

Abigail obeyed and handed the phone back to Heximal with a smirk. Heximal snatched the thing from her and said frantically, "Boss?"

"Give her a raise in the morning," said Sionis. "Fifteen up front. She makes a five thousand dollar profit. And I want you to sign her in tonight, too. The paperwork needs to be on my desk by six tomorrow morning."

"Sure, boss…" Heximal sighed, disheartened heavily.

"And Heximal… you make her life a living Hell without reasonable cause… I'll gut you." The line died after that. Abigail reclined across the backseat, daydreaming of Roman Sionis. Her god. Her hero. She was his slave, bound to his law and existence. She would serve him enthusiastically and effectively. She absentmindedly began to carve into her own skin, marking a small, exquisitely painful R into her wrist. Her tongue grazed the blood that trickled down from her mark on Sionis's first name. With each new kill that would follow tonight, she would add another letter, until Roman Sionis's name was a tower down her arm. _I think I like him_, she thought to herself. He was a shield against those who would seek retribution against her. If she could manipulate him, his entire operation could be hers, along with the security benefits. First, Heximal had to die. Heximal would cause severe problems in the long-run. She would have to murder him in private, and pin it on someone else. And that would take time and careful planning. After Heximal was dealt with, then she could begin to work her influence over the rest of Sionis's men and women. She to work her way into their minds. Into their very daily thoughts. Her presence must saturate them. The pheromones had to be advanced. She had to make them permanent in their effect. Perhaps the goddess knew of an answer to that riddle.

"Alright," Heximal said at length, pulling down a woody road that seemed to be exiting Gotham, but only by a fracture. Out there, on this western most coordination, the Sapphire Woods surrounded them with the city just in view across the Jackson Bridge. A single house stood about a mile into the trees. It was a most beautiful cabin, flourishing with exotic plantlife that seemed to slowly be overtaking the place. Ivy grew across the walls in large clumps and the grass was severely overgrown. But the cabin itself was a lavish coloration of periwinkle on white, and a novelty chimney was smoking from the top. Several cars were parked in the front of it, and all around the yard stood Sionis's security, all dressed in black suits, all wearing the same black, skull-like masks on their faces, and all carrying the same automatic machine guns. Sionis himself stood in a pearly white suit upon the enclave porch, waving with a smile in their direction. On either side of him stood a woman.

One woman was blonde and slender, with dazzling blue eyes that intensified in the headlights of Heximal's car. The other woman was shorter and had the slightest pudge to her belly. Her hair was cropped short and fair-colored, her eyes wide and green. This woman seemed to be muttering softly to herself, occasionally jerking glances over at Sionis and the blonde woman nervously. Her skin was devilishly pale, and her eyes were dark and hollow. Heximal parked the car into the gravel drive and got out without a word to Abigail, who followed behind confidently, smiling as the eyes began to draw in. She had not changed back into her suit after finishing the murders and seducing Willis. She had remained naked and free, with only the ivy that clung to her to provide clothing. Mouths dropped and eyes widened as she passed by, and Abigail basked in their admiration.

She sauntered right up to Sionis, who looked disoriented at her beauty.

"Holy Hell," he murmured, a drool-like dementia in his eyes. "You dressed for the occasion…"

Abigail fingered his chin seductively, pulling him in for a kiss. He had nothing to fear. She had removed her deadly weapon from her lips. When she pulled back, Sionis took a few steps backwards, the force of her advance overencumbering. Abigail smiled kindly at the two women who stood at his sides, the blonde of which was looking ravenously invigorated by the newcomer.

"Hi, there," Abigail sang, holding the woman's hand in her own and planting a kiss upon it. "Quinn?"

Harleen jerked her hand away in irritation, affronted by such an advance. "Yes. Don't do that, though. Ew!"

"Kissed your hand, HA!" the other woman hissed manically, running forward and throwing her arms fully around Abigail. Abigail was suddenly aware of the woman pulling her into an almost bone-crushing hug. "Ha! So _wondrous_," she whispered into Abigail's ear, "to have you here. I am Lissa…" She imitated the sound of a snake hissing. "Wanna know how many children I murdered in May of 1993?"

"Lissa," Sionis said calmly, pulling her gently away from the startled Abigail. "Lissa," he said directly to Abigail. "She's a five-star act. Aren't you?" he asked the mad woman.

"I poured acid down my grandmother's throat," Lissa hissed excitedly, wringing her hands together. "I dissected my cat while it was alive, and suffocated my neighbor in its entrails."

"How quaint," Abigail whispered back, twiddling Lissa's hair with her finger. "You're a natural at your job, aren't you?"

"She's a loose breed," Sionis said, beckoning them to follow him inside. When Abigail stepped through the door, she was greeted to an intriguing display. A soft of carpet of nylon fibers. Walls decorated with scarlet papering, insigniated with black diamonds. A lavish living room met her gaze, with very expensive looking cushioning on the furniture. A royal fireplace burned, smelling heavily of oak. The walls were adorned were African masks and precious paintings that looked like they belonged in a continental galleria. The figures on canvas were almost alive in their presentation, beautiful and crisp in their watercolors. Tables were piled with beautiful gems and precious jewels of a wide variety, glittering sapphires and glinting jade stones alike. A massive television was built into the wall, theatre sized and prominent. To one side, a tall black wardrobe with a single padlock. To another, what appeared to be a large, man-sized birdcage. Abigail was certain that no birds ever lived in such a thing, but a man… oh, gosh, yes, a man…

"Welcome to the Poisoners Guild," Quinn announced grandly, throwing her arms above her head as she twisted about like a ballerina, positively soaring through the air in one astonishing leap. She landed gracefully into a curl upon the circular-shaped couch. Roman took a seat beside her and beckoned for Abigail to sit on his left. As Abigail took her seat, Lissa bent down onto all fours and began to crawl about the floor, flicking her tongue out and hissing like a snake. Abigail wondered about the girl.

"Is she…alright…in her own special way?" she asked, nodding at the animalistic Lissa.

"In her own special way, yeah," Quinn replied, petting Lissa's head gently, who had curled up at the foot of the couch and had begun to purr like a cat. "We found her on the street, poor girl. In a gutter. A filthy one at that. She had…opened up a young man and was taking shelter from the frigid air inside of him. Did you know that if you cut open a dog, you can survive a harsh winter night?" She looked around at Abigail and blinked rapidly. "Lissa here is a survivor. Aren't you?" she cooed at the girl. Lissa replied with maddened giggles, bursting into a spree of insane laughter. Quinn forced Lissa's head down with her foot, muffling the laughter into the carpet. "And what about you?" she asked Abigail. "You're obviously a survivor, _Poison Ivy_."

"Harleen Quinn," Abigail pronounced slowly. "That name sounds fake. Like Harley Quinn. Or did your parents just have a sense of humor?"

"Ha!" Quinn shrieked joyfully, clapping her hands together. "I like you already. I suppose that depends on your perception, doesn't it?" She gazed longingly into the fire of the chimney. Sionis stood to his feet suddenly, looking inspired.

"Quinn, tell her everything. Really introduce her. I'm gonna go set some things up. I'll be back." He walked away with a dark smile on his face, looking pleased about something. Quinn nodded, and turning to Abigail, began her tale.

"The year is 1989," she began. "During this time, a dark shadow descends over Gotham City, putting crime-lords and crooks into their places of defeat. People get desperate, and scared. Some heroes of the underworld rise up and fight this shadow. They fight against this Bat. _He_ was one of them. The greatest. A man of true legacy." Her chest heaved up and down, her eyes fogging over in a dream-like stance. "The Joker. They called him the Joker. He called himself the Joker. His real name…Jack Napier…he was insane. He was evil, murderous and a master of anarchy and chaos… I fell in love with him. I was fifteen at the time. I still remember the red fur scarf I wore. I was just a young girl trying to make her way on the streets of Gotham. Homeless. Free-spirited. Of course, even without a home, everyone knew about the Joker. Anyone could run up to a window of a Martis or Ucell store and watch the news feeds. And I was present at his parade."

"He comes riding down the street, on a giant, cake-like float, all these colorful balloons leading him and his men on. Perfect white skin… perfect green hair… He was perfect in every way. A god in purple. A god with a joybuzzer and a flower on his shirt. A clown god. He murdered so many people during that parade. It was a celebration of Gotham's bicentennial, and of my first true love. I had…admired him for some time before that night. That was the night he died. The night he was murdered by the Bat. My love for the Joker began when he began to remove the creatures of Gotham one by one. He had poisoned thousands of cosmetic and homeware products. People were dying left and right…all with grins on their faces." She snorted. "All was stupid grins on their stupid dead faces. They died laughing. Laughing maniacally, laughing like they had never laughed before. He brought joy to my life. So much joy that it made me realize: Why live on the street and struggle to live…when I could join him, and spread his laughter? He was the future king of the country. He was a god waiting to burst free and spread his happiness to the rest of the world."

"When he died, on that night, I thought to myself: Will the happiness go away now? Have we lost all laughter? I contemplated suicide, if only to join my…beloved Mr. J… in death. Mr. J… that's what I called him. That's the name I adopted for him. I desperately searched for his home-base, desperately did I search for his operations, wanting to round up his follows and lead them in a manhunt for the Bat who had murdered the god…"

"And did you succeed?" Abigail asked, holding onto every word with fascination. The way she spoke about the Joker… it was the same way she saw the goddess.

"They had all fled. They had all betrayed my Mr. J… I wanted to kill them. I wanted to murder every single one of those bastards with my bare hands. But I found my new life in the hideaway. Mr. J…he'd left behind so many of his precious weaponry. Files with all the names of his employees. More files on his aspirations. Whole containers full of Smilex…that wonderful poisonous gas that had brought…so much joy to his many victims." She grasped at the sides of the couch lovingly. "I loved him. I still loved him, even as he lay broken and destroyed upon the street. So I took up residence in that place. His hideaway became my home. The shattered remains of the god of clowns and smiles."

"How did you find it?"

"Oh, my love for Mr. J was strong. I tailed one of his worshippers one night, following them in the shadows… just to know how near I could be to the Joker. I trailed him to the old construction site where they were based. I don't even think Batman ever discovered the location of this place. In the days before Mr. J's murder, I had anticipated the thought of approaching the hideaway and offering myself to him. I would have offered my body and soul to be his plaything. But… before I got the chance…"

"The Bat," Abigail spat.

"The Bat," Quinn nodded.

"Bastard," Abigail hissed.

"I swore revenge on him," Quinn seethed. "I swore I would murder him. Swore I would sacrifice him to Mr. J. And I will. You know why? Because that's all I have left. I began a crusade against those who opposed him. You asked me earlier if my name was a lie, or if my parents had a sense of humor? You were correct on both parts. You see, it's not the name I was born with. My birth parents…fuckers… they named me Tarana Strong. No, that was a shitty name, and I always hated it. I found myself a new name. A beautiful name, in honor of my angel. Harleen Quinn. I'm his Harley Quinn. That name did come from my parent. The parent who re-birthed me, he who did indeed have a sense of humor. Mr. J gave me rebirth through his actions. You see…that's why I am who I am."

"And those who abandoned the Joker…did you hunt them down? Did you make them pay for their disloyalty?"

"I've been putting in money in for years to make the necessary trips," Quinn replied. "I've been hunting them down, one by one. Where I go, so does the Smilex. They laugh and laugh until they drop dead. That is the only reward for betraying Mr. J…"

"How many?" Abigail insisted, her eyes wide with malice, a huge grin on her face.

"So far…thirty-seven. That's nine years' worth of crusading."

"I suppose now… but no, you say, "So far?"

"There are nine left. But they've all moved abroad. None remain in Gotham. And I haven't had the time to schedule the trips."

"But you know where they are, right!?" Abigail insisted.

"Yes. I know where they are. And their time is coming, don't you worry. I won't always be with Mr. Sionis. He understands my commitment to the Joker, and he won't stand in the way. I've given him too much loyalty, I've succeeded too many times. I have free reign in his family. In the meantime, I spread the joy and happiness of Mr. J throughout all of Gotham. Children and elderly, there is no discrimination. I like seeing their smiles, hearing their laughter. The Joker is praising me, I know it! I can feel it!"

"I bet you can," Abigail agreed, privately thinking to herself that the goddess must have foreseen this meeting. The goddess had brought her to this moment, had brought her into contact with this fellow worshipper of Ascension. She and Quinn shared the same dream, and that was to honor their dark deities. "So you took all of it? All of that Smilex, all of those weapons and information. Everything?"

"Yes. When I found Sionis, and he gave me this home, I made this the news base of operations for Mr. J's Movement."

"And Lissa here? Does she worship the Joker, too?"

"Lissa? Why, no, of course. Lissa…worships madness. Isn't that right, Lissa?" Lissa yawned, rolling over onto her side and gazing up at Abigail.

"Madness is the only reality," she whispered. "It is the gate to the seagulls."

"Seagulls?" Abigail repeated. "I understand. But can we speak to the seagulls?" she added, appealing to the mad woman's speech. Lissa gasped.

"No. Never. We can't, you can't, mustn't…mustn't…"

"What if I want to hear the seagulls?" Abigail persisted, rubbing her feet as she reclined across the couch. "What if, say, a seagull spoke to me in my dreams?"

"You whore," Lissa whispered suddenly, her eyes widening. Quinn gulped.

"Lissa, she didn't mean-"

"YOU WHORE!" Lissa suddenly threw herself at Abigail, who shrieked in startled demeanor, overpowered by fast-moving madwoman. "DON'T SPEAK OF WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Her hands went around Abigail's throat, who struggled, in vain, to throw her off. Quinn came from behind and grabbed at Lissa's shoulders, forcing her backwards with marvelously hidden strength. Lissa toppled over onto the floor, hissing venomously as she crawled away into the distant, dark kitchen. Abigail, meanwhile, lay massaging her throat, staring at the darkness where Lissa had vanished. She had never seen anything like that before…

"W-what-was-that!?" she struggled outward, straightening herself up, shaking. Sionis stepped out of the shadows where she stared.

"That was your introduction to Lissa," he told her. "Lissa is deranged. She gets more so by the year."

"She was…a victim," said Quinn, opening a small wardrobe near the fireplace. A blast of cold blew out and Abigail saw a fine stock of wine and beer. Quinn tossed a crimson colored drink her way, labelled "King's Oil." "Attacked, around 1990… the Mad Hatter. You know of him?"

"The Mad Hatter?" Abigail wrapped her mind about it for a moment. "The lunatic who thinks he's from the kid's book?"

"Got him pinned up in Arkham," said Sionis. "Back when he was loose, before the Bat got ahold of him, he was abducting girls left and right, with this mad delusion that he could turn them into the character Alice. He experimented on the brains, did some twisted shit to them. The ones who survive usually went crazy. Lissa…survived. Like Quinn said, we found her crawling around in a street gutter, raving, cutting people open in alleyways and sleeping inside the bodies. It's amazing she was never captured and institutionalized."

"I've been taking care of her for a while," said Quinn. "I took her in and tried to give her constant routines. I thought it might help her if she lived by commitment. It…sort of has worked. She's not as feral as she used to be. The only reason we know she was a victim of the Hatters was because he liked to photograph his victims while he…raped them…"

"The Hatter's in Arkham? Then maybe he can fix her."

"He's just as feral, just as demented," said Sionis. "And he's in Arkham indeed. He has no reason to help her, nor a desire. I've thought about asking Quinn to murder the poor girl in her sleep, out of mercy. But I can never bring myself to do it."

"One day I'm going to do it," Quinn assured him. "One day, when her mind has deteriorated beyond functionality. I'll murder her in her sleep. She'll die laughing, with a great big grin on her face. It will be my gift to her. Just... not now."

"It's gonna happen sooner or later. Her going apeshit on all of you," Abigail warned them. "Best if you…deal with it now. I could do it." She was calm and collected as she said it, her chest heaving at the thought.

Sionis shook his head. "No," he and Quinn said in unison. "I told you. No blood of the family gets spilt unless I say spill it," Sionis hissed. "I mean that. When Lissa's time comes, Quinn will handle it. Now, you've gotten a decent introduction to both Lissa and Quinn. You're a three-woman team now. Ivy, are you ready to start your new life?"

"Of course," Abigail soothed him, approaching him and throwing her arms around his neck. He inhaled deeply. The tiny bottle of pheromones was almost invisible between her fingers as she sprayed. "I _really_ want you," she whispered in his ear. Sionis's breathing intensified.

"We…we g-gotta get you set up…" he said slowly, quietly, weakly.

Abigail pecked him on the lips. "I know," she whispered. "Afterwards, though…"

"Q-Quinn…" Sionis hissed, not taking his eyes off of Abigail. "I…wanna meet…you three…tomorrow…usual time…"

"Okay," Quinn nodded, her expression a strange one. She was aware by now of the power of Abigail over men… but it creeped her out, in a way… It was almost inhuman, Abigail's power. Otherworldly. "Well…_Ivy_…do you want to see your room?"

"I'll have Roman show me," Abigail sighed, rubbing his chest with her hands, her eyes fixed with his, her expression hungry. "Will you show me the bed, Roman?" she asked softly, releasing another stream of pheromones into his senses. Roman nearly tripped over himself, dragging Abigail along, who giggled relentlessly, waving good-bye to "Harleen Quinn" as she and the crime boss of the False Face Society vanished into the darkness.

An hour later, he lay entranced and shaking beside her, his body weak from the intercourse dance. She held him close to her, snuggling him against her chest, her eyes burning with triumph. Roman Sionis had become her personal bitch. He belonged to her, he was her slave, and she could now feel the radiating power that she had over him will. His spirit had broken. Under her influence, he was as an uneducated dog. She had absolutely adored the surprise that Sionis had established for her. He and his men had set her room to mirror a true jungle. Heavy, fresh vines and ivy hung from the ceiling and crawled up the wall. The floor was pure earth, with a multitude of flowers growing fresh out of the room-wide patch. The bed was covered in wet ivy and the air smelled heavily of damp dirt. As Roman's breath continued on its ragged crusade of distribution, Abigail absentmindedly placed yellow flowers in her crimson hair, not able to remember a moment that triumphed over this one. Her moment of triumph was glorious. She was in with Roman Sionis and his Poisoners Guild. She was going to release the goddess from incarceration come morning. Eden would soon return to Gotham…


	7. Chapter 7

Dawn of the new beginning. Her earthy bedroom smelled ripe with triumph. When Abigail awoke from a deep, pleasurable slumber of the ages, she found a small present on her bedside table, wrapped in gold papering and topped with a vibrant green bow. A label simply read: "You were far too good."

Grinning, she ripped the present apart and hastily removed the lid. Inside she found a variety of objects, all fit comfortably into the admittedly small enclosure. A small, rectangular vertical envelope. A Glock 17 was also there, lying atop two magazines for loading. And lastly, a key, old-fashioned and skeletal-like. Tenderly stroking the handgun for a moment, she picked up the manila envelope and carefully opened the top. Inside, she found a check, one most beautifully dotted with lovely zeroes. Fifty grand, with the name Uma Thorma written across the line. So that was to be her new name, then.

"Roman, you shouldn't have," she sighed, lying on her back and gazing dreamily at the vine-infested ceiling. And this room had been his doing too. He had done so much for her in a very short amount of time. He truly had become her slave. She had essentially become goddess over the False Face Society within the span of twenty-four hours. The true goddess would shower her with gifts galore.

Sionis had left bow-legged and out of breath hours previously, unable to say many words at all. Her alluring contributions were dutifully noted by his security. Even now, they were probably wondering as to the possibilities of getting in on the action. But Abigail was intent on reserving herself only for the king himself. Roman was the man to manipulate, not them. Although… perhaps building an army of subservient creatures in this family would not hurt her chances. Perhaps she could seduce a few of them…

She also found new clothing in the bedside table drawer. A flowing green dress, neatly folded and scented with a fresh, flowery aroma. The dress sparkled with silver glitter, and seemed to have some kind of vine-like embroidering along it. A note was attached to this dress as well: "For your visit to Arkham. 11:00 a.m."

_My goddess!_ She screamed joyfully in her mind, falling down onto the bed in absolute ecstasy. Today was the day! Today was the day indeed! Abigail hurriedly dressed herself in the new garment, and quickly sped out of the room, almost dancing across the hallway and the kitchen in a ballerina-like way, her heart filled with true happiness. True triumph!

In the kitchen, Quinn was sitting at the kitchen table, silently drinking a cup of mocha whilst she read from a book of knock-knock jokes. She looked up in surprise when Abigail fluttered into the room, spinning about with flailing arms and a dazed, grinful expression.

"You look like a duck when you do that," Quinn noted, turning the page in her book delicately. "Like a big red duck."

"Quack!" Abigail sang, searching through the cabinets for a coffee mug. "What kind of coffee?"

"Pumpkin spice."

"Yummy," Abigail sighed, grabbing an unnaturally large mug from the top shelf. It was shaped and painted up like Bozo the Clown. "Um, hello, stud," she sighed, kissing the ceramic clown's red lips. "I'm gonna drink you up, all the waaaaaay…"

"You're a cheerful one, I notice," Quinn said, polishing off her own mocha in one chug. "You always like this? I hope so. We need smiles 24/7."

"Oh, Harley, dear," Abigail sighed, filling the clown to the brim, imaging it screaming in pain from the hot liquid being poured into its brains. "I am alive. The goddess is alive this morning and so am I. Liberation is nigh."

"Well that's good and all, but what the hell does that mean in anti-wackonese?"

"It means," Abigail hissed, turning to face her with flushing cheeks, "that you shouldn't _fucking_ insult me!" she screamed, taking a sip from the mocha. Quinn's eyes widened, and Abigail, withdrawing from her drink, swallowed and grinned. "Cheer up, clown. I'm kidding." She giggled in an irritating fashion. "Have a drink, celebrate. Today…is a beautiful day."

"I can see that… nice dress. Sionis?"

"Oh, isn't he a dream?" Abigail sighed, sitting down opposite Quinn and throwing her feet onto the table. Quinn pulled back, repulsed. "Isn't he a star? Sionis is a god in human flesh. But I'll conquer that god, every time he comes for me. Did you and he ever make jokes together?"

"_What_!?" Quinn hissed, disgusted by this woman. "Why would that even be your business?"

"Come now, child," Abigail whispered, straightening up and slamming her mug down hard. "You and he have an understanding. He gives you all this power, all this authority. Did you whore your way to the gold or are you just naturally that good?"

"Y-you… who are you, anyway, huh!?" Quinn shrieked. "What are you!?"

"Just getting to know you better, that's all," Abigail cooed sadly, mocking tears. She snorted. "Right?"

"Ask other questions, you ginger-snap!"

"Ginger-snap… good one, but it needs work. Try ginger-snapped."

Quinn stood to her feet, flushed and irritated. "I can already tell you're going to get on my nerves."

"I'm not the one who panders after clowns, am I?"

Quinn seized up, her eyes wide with fire. She looked as if she were about the leap at Abigail, as Lissa had the previous night. And just in time, there came the pitter-patter of feet that signaled the approach of Lissa. The mad woman sauntered around the corner and into the kitchen. Today, she wore what appeared to be a nurse's scrubs, vibrant periwinkle and loose on her.

"Hello, sea-gull blasphemer," she whispered at Abigail, as she snatched the coffee pot from the cabinet and began to drink from it deeply.

"Still haven't gotten over that?" Abigail asked, leaning forward and raising her fists. "Well, do you wanna have a go at me? Come on, I'll even give you first punches."

"Uma!" Quinn hissed. "Enough!"

"Silence, clown," Abigail snapped, not taking her eyes off of the enraged Lissa. "This is between me and the animal."

"I said, silence!" Quinn exclaimed. Abigail was suddenly aware of a blonde streak out of her peripheral vision, and in the next moment, Quinn had a pistol held against her temple. She was breathing hard, sweat pouring down her face madly. Abigail challenged her with a glare. "That's enough."

"Put it away," Abigail hissed venomously. "You won't spill blood of a family member without his say-so."

"Paint the room red, with blooooooooood," Lissa giggled. "Paint it red, paint it red…let me pull her eyes out, pour acid down her throat…" She began to saunter forward on toes, like a velociraptor of sorts. "I'm going to stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you-"

"Lissa!" Quinn hissed.

"-stab you, stab you, stab you-"

"Lissa!" Quinn had to forcibly hold her back. Abigail stood to her feet.

"I tire of you both already," she smirked. "I have a goddess to unleash upon the savages of Gotham. Have fun playing girls." Sure enough, it was half an hour to eleven. "You have a car, right? I have to go see Roman."

"Wait!" Quinn said hurriedly, trying to restrain Lissa. "We're supposed to be present too. You can wait a damn minute."

"It's already 10:30," Abigail pointed out. "It's too late for waiting. You were going to make late on purpose."

"We're meeting Heximal at Arkham, which is only a fifteen minute drive from here!" Quinn replied savagely. "So you can wait for the two of us to-"

"No," Abigail spat, coming so close to Quinn that their noses were practically touching. "No more waiting! No more stalling! You can't hold her back!" She began to foam at the mouth in her rage, her eyes threatening to pop out of her skull. Quinn paled nervously. "She has to be free! She has to be free! We have to go!"

"C-calm down!"

"I will _not_ calm down!" Abigail screamed, and then she grinned in a most Cheshire-like way. "I will not! Never again! Not once!"

"Uma!"

"Harley!"

"You're a nut," Lissa whispered, slinking away for the living room, clawing at the air like a cat. "Nuuuuuuut…"

"You have to calm down," Quinn insisted, putting the gun against Abigail's head again. "I can shoot you."

"Roman will eat you alive if you do that," Abigail spat. "But if you insist on a fight, I'll gladly give you one…"

Quinn sighed impatiently, pulling the gun away and storming off, muttering to herself as she went. Abigail stood fuming on the spot, shaking with rage, burning with poisonous fire. She had to kill. She had to kill soon. These two maniacs were going to drive her…insane… Promptly, she ran back to her room and rummaged through her belongings, shakily unstoppering the Nyrox gloss and applying it carefully. She made the needed preparations and hid the essentials in her bra. Everything she needed to turn this new day into one of massacre. She had to. She needed to. The last thing she took was her mini-duffle, inside of which were the various offerings she had taken to sacrifice to the goddess. The pieces of her victims were ready to be presented. After dosing herself with a strong shower of the pheromones, Abigail stepped forward with dark purpose, intending dark things.

"So this is it, then," Abigail said at length, as the convertible sped down the woody road in the direction of the towering Arkham Asylum. The great castle was a foreboding, but very welcoming to her, form of a place, eerie in its presentation, but utter sweet in its gifts. Quinn and Lissa both wore expressions of bitterness on their faces. Quinn had slipped into a most interesting attire: Tight-fitted latex pants, one leg black, the other crimson, each leg sporting a contrasting diamond pattern. Her crop-top matched this pattern, and her blonde hair was tied into two pig-tails. An array of guns and other strange devices were strapped securely to her, and she wore a large hunter's knife on her back. Lissa, on the other hand, still wore the nursing scrubs from earlier. The only change that had been made were her lips: she had applied a black lipstick to them. "You look nice," Abigail attempted, noting the mad woman's deranged stare from behind. "I like your…lipstick."

"Yeah?" Quinn muttered. "Maybe you should let her kiss you, then."

"The Poisoners Guild," Abigail said slowly. "I can see why it's called that. We each specialize in poison-based terrorism, no? You have your Smilex, Harley, dear… but what about her? What do you use, Lissa?"

"As I said, you should let her kiss you and find out," Quin retorted. Abigail gasped.

"Me too," she said excitedly, grinning at Lissa and indicating her own shining, voluptuous lips. "How potent?"

"Brains will fade away," Lissa whispered. "Brains will melt and they'll join in the sing-song…"

"Eh?"

"She means insanity," Quinn answered. "I helped her develop it. Thought making things with her hands would enact as some kind of therapy for her addled mind. The lipstick is laced with a compound we developed called Snap. If you want a more scientific classification, it's an LK-938. Targets the neurons and stems in the brains. Degrades them rapidly. It doesn't poison the blood or target the organs: it destroys the mind."

"The mind?"

"Drives them insane," Lissa hissed ravenously, her head bent back with a malicious grin on her face. "Makes them scream and scream for hours on end. I like when they scream. And they bark, like dogs. Ruff!"

"Truly?" Abigail asked Quinn.

Quinn nodded. "Yeah. It works. I saw to it. They become feral and demented. The damage is permanent, or at least, most of the time it is. Sometimes, you get the asshole with a stubborn mental will… but that's a rare case. Brain damage, that's what it's all about. Makes them violent, and they hallucinate, which in turn makes them into useful weaponry against, say, the Bat."

"Ingenious. You are superior to me, then: you keep them tormented, instead of ending them quickly."

"Something we can finally agree on," Quinn replied. "I like my victims to go out with a smile. Lissa likes hers to go out screaming and raving like the lunatics they become. You… you're unoriginal. You kill them painfully but quickly. I saw what you can do. Did you know that Mr. S had me follow you on last night's mission and film the process?"

"Eh? Did I put on a good show, then?" Abigail sighed passionately, rubbing her leg in an arousing manner, but Quinn was not to be seduced. "Oh, who am I kidding? I know I did. You enjoyed it, I know that much. Why else would you have stuck around for so long? That kiss came after a very long struggle."

"I did enjoy it, as a matter of fact. You have talent. It's a shame it's wasted in a cracked egg like you, that's all."

Abigail's hand jerked instinctively for the knife hidden at her side… but she relented. Later. It would happen. It must happen later, without delay. She smiled sweetly. "The _jokes_ on you… I've embraced my madness. You…you're afraid of it, I can tell."

"Afraid!?" Quinn looked sharply at her. The car veered around a corner and pulled up to the great gate of Arkham, its shadows casting a looming darkness over them. Abigail winked at her.

"Yes, you are afraid," she sighed, now unsheathing her knife and holding it up before Quinn's face. "You fear this knife, don't you? You fear being _cut_ by it…" She held her arm up, showing Quinn the "R" that she had carved. "I, on the other hand, fear not this blade of pleasure." She demonstrated so by slicing into her skin, reveling in the pain that it brought upon her to slice her skin open, and she slowly wet strands of her hair with the blood. It blended perfectly. "Shall we?"

Quinn's face was sour and frozen. Lissa's hands were over her head and she seemed to be cowering, tears trickling down her face as she moaned like a scared pup. Abigail, meanwhile, flung herself out the car and waltzed up the way for the gate, where Heximal and a few of his men awaited them against the bars. The grounds were freezing this morning, dead, dry leaves scattered by the thousands across the rocky terrain. The air smelled heavily of frost and dew. Abigail sauntered right between two of Heximal's armed guards, and gazed one lovingly in the eyes. "Hi, there," she breathed, destroying any hope of personal space with the man. One whiff of her pheromones, however, began to sweat the man physically. Heximal and the two other gunmen stared at her with wide eyes, enraptured by the strong scent and heat that they were giving off.

"Morning," Heximal said slowly and quietly. Abigail grinned, stepping forward and licking his cheek.

"Morning, lover," she whispered. "How is it today?"

"W-what?"

She forcibly grabbed his crotch, and Heximal let out a sound like a wounded dog as Abigail brought him down to his knees. The three guards and her fellow Poisoners, who were making their way slowly up the way, could only stared in awe as Abigail pulled Heximal's face against her thigh. She cradled him there for a moment, inviting him to touch her. Inviting him to become slave to her will. Taking his away would be a blast.

"What are you doing!?" Quinn snapped, suddenly running up to them and pushing Abigail aside. Abigail stumbled on the spot, and one of Heximal's men rushed forward, balancing her before she could fall. Heximal's head was swinging back and forth, his tongue positively wagging out of his mouth. Abigail stroked her rescuer's chin lovingly, sending the man into a breath-gasm, and she softly whispered to him, "Carry me, please."

"C-carry you?" he whispered back.

"Please," she sighed sadly, squeezing his chin. "I'll let you kiss me."

The man gasped, his lips moving in for hers at once. Giggling, she pressed her hand firmly against his mouth. "No, no, no. Not yet. You have to provide a service before you get your payment. Pick me up and carry me towards the tower. Heximal, are we ready?"

"Y-yeah…" Heximal said slowly, grinning a stupid grin as his eyes dazed over. "Sure…"

"Can't you see what she's doing to you!?" Quinn asked him incredulously, bonking on his head with a fist. "She's hit you with mind-controlling powder!"

"Actually, it's vaporized. Makes the effects quite instant," Abigail corrected her as the guard hauled her into his arms and began to carry her through the open gate. Heximal led them forward, guns in hand, and Quinn and Lissa followed behind, sour and annoyed.

"So we're to fight our way in?" Abigail asked Heximal, scratching his chin from above. Heximal looked dumbfounded.

"No…we just…hand the receptionist a bill of release…"

"Is that it? Then why the guns?"

"The guns are tipped with silencers, goddess… We're to take out the staff on watch in the courtyard. They aren't on the payroll."

Abigail smirked. Heximal probably did not even realize what he had just called her. She was looking forward to more spilt blood. So they were to make this look like a genuine escape. And Sionis would have worked things out to play out to their favor.

"Our orders are clear," Quinn said at once, trying to maintain her professionalism. "The receptionist will accept the release notice. She gives us the necessary keys. After that, we put a bullet in her. She's been on the boss's list for a while. List of priors that disrespect Mr. S. We'll then move in to the main courtyard, on the botanical section. Around this time of day, Pamela Isley is scheduled to be walking the gardens."

"Excuse me!"

Everyone suddenly froze. An Arkham security guard was moving in from a toll-house, rifle ready in hands. Sionis's men turned on him at once, their black masks making the scene ripe for terror. The guard froze.

"You with Sionis?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah, that's right," Heximal snapped, stepping forward with his Glock. "Do you have the golden goose?"

The guard's face went odd. "Golden goose?"

Heximal raised the gun without hesitation and fired a shot. The silencer on his gun kept all noise at bay. The bullet hit the man right between the eyes, and he fell down dead. Abigail inhaled deeply, moaning seductively as she grinned at Heximal with proud fascination.

"Good kill, clean kill," Lissa whispered to all who would listen. "Now he's bleeding…all over the place… I need to eat him. Can I…eat him?" she begged of Quinn.

"No, no, stay silent and still," Quinn hissed. "Is that the pass-phrase, then?" she asked Heximal. "'Do you have the golden goose?'"

"And don't forget," Heximal replied, "the correct response for those involved in the operation: 'It's in the back with Clarabelle.' If that aint your response when I ask it, you get a bullet. Boss's orders."

"How sinister," Abigail commented. "I wonder how many people we get to shoot today…"

"I say we just raid the place, shoot it up and paint the walls with blood," Lissa exclaimed. "Can I kiss you?" she added, clawing at the back of one of Heximal's guards. She pushed her away, disgusted by her advances. Abigail made a mental note to murder the man for his disrespect at an undisclosed time.

"Let's get this done," Quinn said, holding a rather large, obnoxiously silly looking, fat-barreled pistol in hand. It was painted lime green, and across the barrel was written, "BANG!" surrounded by a graphic of red zigzags. The party moved forward, pressing through the front doors and into the main foyer. The great entrance chamber was empty this morning, their footsteps echoing through the place as they walked. A single receptionist awaited them at the circular desk, a nervous looking, gray-haired woman in a light green scrub.

"Welcome to Arkham. Can I help you?"

"The goose…do you have it?" Heximal asked her at once, bringing his party to a halt before the desk. The woman smiled kindly.

"In the back. Clarabelle is keeping her company."

"Not exactly the right words, is it?" Heximal spat, wagging a finger in disappointment. "You stupid fuck."

The woman looked affronted. "I suppose you want the keys, _kind_ sir?"

"Let's have them, then." He held out a hand, and the woman slapped a link of two black keycards into it.

"There. Take it and get out of my sight."

"With pleasure," Heximal agreed, raising the gun and firing off a second shot. The woman never even had time to scream. Her blood saturated the papers on her desk as she fell backwards. Abigail was enthralled by Heximal's swift, merciless action. Heximal calmly wiped the woman's blood off the end of the barrel. He had shot her at point-blank range. Abigail slid forward, out of her carrier's arms, and ran up beside Heximal.

"Can I do the next one?" she whispered urgently.

"What?"

"The next victim. The next one we shoot. Can I do it?"

"Sure, knock yourself out," Heximal said calmly. "The boss wanted me to give this to you anyway." He reached into the side of his black jacket and pulled out a silencer, which fit decently onto the gun that Sionis had left her. She held her new toy with shaking, excited hands. Quinn came forward, dragging Lissa with her.

"Alright, we're going to go set off the distraction," she told Abigail and Heximal. "If you hear screaming and laughter, you'll know we succeeded. Try not to take too long. Lissa and I are out of here as soon as we've dealt with the undesirables. This is a pruning mission as much as it is a rescue. Mr. S wants a list of individuals dealt with, sour fruit on the employment tree. While we're off handling this matter, you get the plant and rush off. Got it?"

"Understood," Abigail said at once, enthusiastically holding her gun at the ready. "The time has come to free the goddess."

"Whatever." Quinn turned on her heel and marched away, Lissa running after, a large kitchen knife in hand, a bag of goodies bouncing up and down from behind her. Abigail wished them both a quick death at the hands of the Arkham guards. It was time to move in.

"Bang." A nurse in a puddle of blood. "Bang." A wife leaving visitation. "Bang! Bang! Bang!" Her three children. Each time they came across someone new, Abigail would bear her comrades to the punch, mercilessly gunning her victims down with utter, speechless enjoyment. Heximal and his escort could only stand and watch with expressions of awe as Abigail twirled the gun about, firing off shot after shot. People were screaming, running for their lives, papers and toiletries scattering throughout the air in their haste. Their blood flowed like a river.

"Hold on!" Heximal was frantically saying, trying to pry the gun away from her firm grip. She was breathing out of control, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and her grin Cheshire. "Wait a minute, now, the pass-phrase test, remember!?"

"Silence," Abigail insisted, dosing him another burst of the pheromones. Heximal calmed at once, stumbling backwards, his mind fogging over at once. Abigail threw her arms around the three of them and whispered slowly, "I have my own agenda. You have yours. Do me a favor and don't follow me. Do me a favor and shoot anyone who comes through." She pressed her hands firmly upon Heximal's chest. "Will you follow my word?"

"Yeah…" Heximal whispered, a mad passion in his eyes.

"Will you prove it?" she asked, more intensely, wrapping her leg around him. "Shoot those who follow. Kill them. Can you do this?"

"I…can…Uma…" Heximal swayed on the spot.

"Kill for me, boys," Abigail whispered, and then she turned on her heel, skipping merrily down the way, leaving the three False Facers in stupefaction. She wondered if they would be gunned down in their drugged state. As she skipped past the bodies of her victims, her hand reflexively went for the knife at her side…but she resisted. There was no time at the moment. That was five dead. She had earned O, M, A, N and S… but by the end of the day, she intended to earn his full name several times over.

There were many doors to her right, bolted shut and tinted, but on her left, a series of glad windows, looking into what appeared to be a massive garden. Plants of a wide variety overwhelmed the place, from gardenias to goldenrods, from hollyhock to gayfeather, and moonflowers coupled with monkshood. Orchids, ming-bursts, and Yellow Spine Tayfeathers… poison ivy, Tapestra vinus, and Xeno-blade flowers… It was paradise inside of this glass heaven. She clawed at the glass, yearning to enter that paradise and find the goddess. Heximal had mentioned that this place was connected to the main courtyard, where the goddess took her daily strides… and there was no doubt that this was where she would be. A door nearby led into the greenhouse. Swiping a keycard that noted the greenhouse on its back, she pushed it open and entered into sweet Eden mimicry.

The air inside smelled heavenly of honey and dirt, mixed into one glorious, bitter-sweet compilation. "It is time," Abigail whispered, her depraved mind coming to peace at last. It was an angelic, feathery peace. She walked slowly among the flowers and vines and lily-patches, touching every low hanging beauty with tender love and care.

The temperature was warm in here, as if welcoming her in her grand mission. Where had she been for the last year? What elements of herself had taken on a grand change, had made her into the impossible? Imitation Ivy. In the end, it was perceived as imitation, and maybe they were right when they said it. Maybe the truth was… no one could replace Poison Ivy as goddess. No one could take her place in the grand movement against Earth. Eden, perhaps, belonged to one woman, and that was the true goddess. So, if this was indeed truth, and the matter was that she, Abigail, was merely a mimicry and indeed an obstacle…she may very well have to beg the goddess to take her life. But her mission was set. Freeing the goddess was top priority. She could do it. She, Abigail, could do it! And then the mass slaughter could begin anew. The genocide of the humans, the _mammals_, could official begin. Abigail's heart was gone. She pitied the humans no longer, for she herself had Ascended from such a status. It was time to move on. It was time to expand her consciousness and evolve into the reality around the world.

"Goddess!" Abigail cried, falling to her knees at once and spreading out her arms. "Goddess, are you here, in this paradise!?"

"Who the fuck was that!?"

Abigail's heart suddenly froze. That was not the voice of the goddess. It was the voice of a man, and an angry sounding man at that. There were footsteps somewhere beyond the brush ahead of her, and Abigail quickly darted into a thick gathering of ivy, taking shelter beneath the fat clumps. Who else was here? Who else could be in this unholy place, lair of the goddess? Through the clump of ivy, she saw at least three pairs of feet approach, all wearing the same black, polished shoes and navy blue khakis. Guards of Arkham.

"Who's in here!?" a gruff voice hissed, and Abigail heard the click of a gun. "This is a restricted area at the present time. Show yourself!"

The man's show was only centimeters from her face. In all honesty, if it were only one man, she could stab him in the foot with ease with her knife. The poison on the blade will put an end to him very quickly. But he had two friends…maybe more, too, hidden among the place. Perhaps she should have taken Heximal with her…

Nonetheless, she held her gun against one breath, and the knife against the other. She had to wait for her move. The head guard walked forward, away from Abigail and towards the open door where she had entered. His two friends followed behind closely. _Now_…

Slowly, as quietly as she could, she crawled forward, trying hard not to let the ivy make a noise as she pushed it aside. She managed to crawl into the middle of the dirt lane, and stood up, right behind the guard closest in the back. Now she was grinning. It was time to murder again, and earn the last letters. She placed the barrel end of her gun against the back of the man's head, and fired off a single shot. The silencer seemed so much louder in this greenhouse.

As the man fell dead, his blood splattering her face, Abigail rushed forward just as his two friends turned. Wemore Perce saw her coming before Mark did, and let out an instinctive, "Dirk!" before Abigail had sunk her blade into Mark's temple. Mark fell with a scream, the knife still sticking into his head as Abigail let his body fall. She and Perce raised their pistols at the same time.

Abigail struck gold first. Perce fell backwards, the bullet entering his right shoulder. He crumpled into a heap of marigolds and tigerlilies. Abigail did not hesitate. She took aim at the man's right leg, and fired off a shot. It missed him by him several inches, shooting up a clump of dirt.

"You bitch!" Perce screamed, even louder than Mark, who was still rolling about the floor in agony, his body jerking violently. His veins were already turning green, his skin turning that deathly brown pale… Perce, meanwhile, raised his gun desperately, firing off a shot at Abigail, who ran to the right. The bullet missed her by an inch, smashing into the glass wall of the greenhouse and shattering it.

Abigail ran down the side of the garden, taking cover behind a long row of hedge. Perce was firing off shot after shot, and she could hear him struggling to keep up, hissing in pain from his bleeding shoulder. She had to get him when he least saw it coming. She had to jump out at him from behind and kill him without him being aware of her presence. If she could just get cl-

Her mind shattered. She had turned a corner, and had reached the end of the greenhouse, where an emptied out fountain stood. Someone was lying in the middle of that fountain. Abigail gasped loudly, his heart skipping several beats, and she fell to her knees, her hands suddenly shaking very violently.

Lying and writhing in noticeable weakness, the crimson haired goddess turned her head to look at Abigail. Her green eyes seemed almost fogged over. The goddess's face was heavily scarred and bloodied. Her clothes had been torn asunder, her bruised breasts and cut legs exposed fully. Blood trickled down her skin. Her hair was a wild mess. Green tears flowed down her cheeks.

"No…" Abigail whispered, blinking back her own tears as she crawled forward, not wanting to believe it.

"W-oo-eh…" the goddess gasped, trying to speak through the battered state. She raised an arm slowly, her own hands trembling. "Who…help…h-help…"

Abigail reached out a hand, and gently touched the goddess. Completion was imminent. Her body relaxed, and all manner of peace washed over her. She was finally here. She was _touching_ the goddess! The feel of the goddess's skin against her own…it was transformative.

"What have they done to you, goddess?" Abigail whispered, holding Ivy's hand in her own. "What have they done!?" she sobbed, so angry and so filled with a desire to burn the world.

"Shown her her place," a voice said from behind. Abigail felt the gun push up against the back of her head. "Stand up… and drop your weapon."

Abigail did not listen. She squeezed her goddess's hand gently, whispering peace to the woman. "I'm here," she sobbed. "I'm here now. It's okay. You're not alone…"

"I said, _stand_!" Peace snapped, yanking Abigail by the hair and forcing her to her feet. He snatched the gun from her grip and spun Abigail around, now holding both guns against her temple. Abigail's face was red and blotched, tears overwhelming. Her expression could have been crafted from venom itself. "Before I put a bullet in your head," Perce hissed, leaning forward and pulling her chin forward, to where they were nose to nose, "tell me just who the fuck you are!?"

Abigail closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply, and exhaled in equal force. She hated this man. She judged him accordingly. He must die. He must be sentenced. He must be punished. Whether or not it was in her power to replace the goddess or otherwise contribute to the constant tending and regrowth of Eden… she would gladly take on the name.

"I?" she whispered slowly, opening her eyes. They narrowed as she gave him a look of pure disgust.

"Yes! Who are you!?" he snapped viciously, pushing into her temple with the end of his gun. Abigail smiled darkly.

"I am Poison Ivy," she hissed, and she forced her lips a fraction of an inch forward. When they made contact with his, her heart exploded with utter joy. He was taken aback by her advance, his eyes widening with surprise…before they widened in pain. Her hands gripped the sides of his face tightly as she forced a ravenous, wild kiss upon him, holding him in place even as he struggled, his heart exploding in his chest, the gun dropping from his hand as he began to scream through her lips. Abigail moaned loudly, raising her arm into the air, wrapping her leg around Perce's waist, sucking the life right out of him. The Nyrox was pulsing through his veins. His skin had already turned a deadly pale, as Mark's had, but she did not release him. His eyes had begun to bleed, and she promptly dug her poisoned nails into them, reenacting her murder of Hatsumoto Myazaki with tender, erotic care.

Perce fell onto the ground, taking Abigail with him, who could only crawl atop him, dominating him, never removing her lips. It was a long time before she did. He was long dead by the time she removed her lips from his. Every tender second that passed in their intimacy gave her strength and power. When she at last removed her lips from the corpse, she bent her head back, screaming aloud towards the heavens, laughing maniacally. Her laughter shattered the ears of those who heard it. In its tones, there was only madness. She screamed in joy, screamed in terrifying pleasure.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!" she was screaming, as Pamela Isley sat up, slowly, weakly, her eyes wide with the marvel she had just witnessed. "YEEEEEEEEEES! YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES! YOU BASTARD!" Abigail began to beat Perce's body savagely. "YOU BASTARD! YOU'RE DEAD, NOW! DEAD! DEAAAAAAAAAAD! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"


	8. Chapter 8

"AAAGGH!" Henry Killis screamed, grabbing his head in pain, his eyes bulging. Lissa, laughing maniacally, cartwheeled away, leaping upon a nurse and forcing him to the ground. She flicked her wrist, streaming out a surge of black gas from her arm-launcher, a cruel device hidden beneath her sleeve. The male nurse screamed alongside Killis, grabbing at his head as well, as visions of spider-dogs and snake-birds swum about in his mind. Their brains molded. Their instincts of a most wild nature kicked in. They lashed at each other viciously, barking like dogs, growling like lions.

"No more minds, lose your minds, no more miiiiinnnndssssssss…." Lissa hissed, crawling on all fours for Linda Kersch, one of the Arkham doctors on staff, who had just been leaving a session with her patient. The intensive wing housed some of Gotham's most notorious. Serial killers and rapists were an understatement. Lissa had shot the woman in the leg as she had exited the cell of one Raymond Calcite, who was standing at the window of his cell even now, cheering and whooping on the show taking place outside. "No more nosing around!" Lissa cried, sitting atop the woman's back and jerking her head backwards. Lissa dug both fingers into the doctor's nostrils, and proceeded to pull the woman's nose apart with tremendous strength. Dr. Kersch's scream penetrated through even that of the male nurse and Killis.

Lissa ripped apart the woman's nose, and then proceeded to gouge the doctor's eyes out. "No more seeing what can't be seen," Lissa sighed, eating the woman's hair from the top of her head as she de-eyed the poor soul. She ripped out shreds by the tuft-fulls, and after removing the woman's eyes, Lissa proceeded to brutally smash Kirsch's head into the stone floor, again and again, over and over in dark, dark purpose, until the life went out of her and she was left a bloodied, destroyed mess in a crumpled heap. "Sleep!" Lissa hissed, breaking her neck for good measure with one strong, focused twist.

Calcite was still screaming madly behind his door, his face pressed against the bars, whooping and encouraging Lissa on. Lissa, her gaze snapping up to him, leapt to her feet and bolted for the door. She dug her hands through the window and forced her lips against Calcite, the black poison saturating his lips and spreading down his throat. Calcite pulled back, grabbing at his head, screaming as his brain began to fry, several nerves severing, his mind breaking as the hallucinations began.

"Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah," Lissa sang, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. "Your mind is gooooooooooooooone!" She cartwheeled away with a loud, "Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!" and daydreamed of flying fish and sneaking dog heads attached to chains. When Lissa reached the next hall, an isolation ward for the mentally catatonic, she was met with a barrage of intense laughter. Several Arkham guards were on their knees, laughing insanely, a green haze floating about the room around them. Their faces stretched into mad, Cheshire grins. Quinn was in the far distance, fighting with a guard who had stayed her distance from the little black ball that lay in the middle of the corridor, letting off a constant stream of Smilex gas.

The guard threw a punch at Quinn, who bent backwards in a very flexible fashion. Quinn cartwheeled backwards, a gas mask strapped tightly to her face as she entered the poisonous fog. She ran forward then, frontflipping through the air and skidding across the floor. Before the guard could react, Quinn twisted on the floor, throwing her legs up and wrapping them around the woman's neck. Quinn twisted her entire body, snapping the guard's neck with it. As the guard fell dead, Quinn spun on the spot. Three more guards were running up the way, armed with automatic rifles.

"Fire in the hole!" Quinn screamed, snatching her overlarge pistol from the ground. She aimed at the guards and fired off a single shot. A black mini cannonball shot across the hall and rolled at the guards' feet. The three pursuers stopped in their tracks, one of them screaming about a bomb. Indeed, the black ball did exploded at that moment, overwhelming the hall with Smilex gas. The gas seeped into the cell windows of the many doors of the hall, and within moments, there were several screams of constant laughter, men and women falling down left and right as their features were corrupted into gruesome, jester-like phantasms. "For you, Mr. J," Quinn sighed.

She took out her phone and checked off a few more names on the virtual list that Sionis had made for her. Between her and Lissa, the twenty bounties were almost completely taken care of. There were two remaining names on the list: Jonathon Crane and Victor Fries. Quinn was satisfied, having saved these two for last. They were both notable names, and both had severely pissed off the boss to an intense degree. Crane, known in Gotham as the notorious Scarecrow, had attempted a raid on the Poisoners Guild just last year. The mad man had set fire to the guild basement, intending to take out the alchemical lab beneath, in order to eliminate competition in the hallucinogenic market. A fool who would die for a foolish cause.

And Fries… Fries had screwed everyone over. For ten minutes worth of an iced over city the previous year, Sionis had lost over two animal preservations in Gotham, several aquatic conservatories and a docking manufacturer on the east side. It had all sank to the bottom of the river after his attack. Millions in damages had been the reward. Sionis, of course, had been willing to spare Fries's life in exchange for the man's diamond stockpile, a most gracious acquirement after the final raid on Snowey Cones… but Quinn suspected that this most recent change in plans had come as a result of Uma's presence: Uma had some kind of power over Roman Sionis, and Abigail had Freeze's murder on her mind, for his antagonistic advances against her "goddess…" Quinn felt Uma's hand over this without a doubt. Tying up lose ends, in the name of the "goddess…" Goddess, goddess… it's all she ever called Pamela Isley. The woman was obsessed to an unnaturally destructive length. Why? Why did Abigail have such an obsession with Poison Ivy?

_Why do you have such an obsession with the Joker!? _

Quinn shook her head, forcing the sudden, invasive thoughts out of her mind. She spun on the spot and looked Lissa-ward. Lissa had been taught better than to enter the Smilex haze, and she was walking back and forth, back and forth, her head bent low, muttering to herself something silent and secret.

"Lissa!" Quinn called from across the way. "Do you remember where the map is?"

"In the foyer," Lissa cried, swaying on the spot. "Under the dead cat, wearing a hat, smiling like a bat, it's fat-"

"It's under the stairway we took to get onto this floor, remember!?" Quinn called out, clenching her fist. "You remember that, right?"

"Under the stairs, run away hares… run away White Rabbit…"

Quinn gulped. "Hold on!" she sighed, making sure her gas mask was secure before running across the hall through the fog. Lissa could not be trusted to wander about on her own in this place. Her condition had indeed worsened since their last big mission. This was going to slow things down.

"This is Quinn to Heximal, do you read?" Quinn said urgently, pressing a small red button on her wristwatch down. A static voice responded out of the watch speakers.

"I hear you. What's your status?" Heximal sounded odd. Drunk and slightly disoriented… Quinn had immediate suspicions.

"We've gotten the targets in Isolation A and B, but we need to make our way to Special Accommodations for Fries. Crane was transferred to Yellow Wing on the west side, so we're going to save him for last, since SA is closer. I'm taking Lissa with me. She can't function on her own in this place."

"If you're going to SA," Heximal said slowly, "you don't want to take Lissa."

"And why the hell not!?" Quinn snapped.

"Because Jervis Tetch was transferred there three weeks ago, that's why."

Quinn froze. Lissa had suddenly turned stiff as well. That name… it stung her brain on a mentally jeopardizing level. She knew it. Could feel it, could smell it.

"Whaaaaaaaaaat?" Lissa hissed. "Whaaaaaaaaat!?" She began to reach for Quinn's arm, who jerked away, holding up her hands desperately.

"Lissa, dear," Quinn begged. "Please… please, don't do anything rash. Calm down…"

"Tetch," Lissa snapped, her head jerking hard when she said it. "Tetch!" Her head jerked again. "Tetch, Tetch, Tetch!" Again. Again. Again. Her eyes darkened. "Special…Accommodations…" She turned on her heel.

"Lissa, no!"

But Lissa was already running at full speed, howling wildly. Swearing, Quinn bolted after her, squeezing her gun tightly. She had one round left before it needed a reload. She was not sure how she was going to manage tracking Lissa down and still stay on top of those who would try to impede her. She did not want to kill Lissa. Not now. She did not want this to be the moment. But if Lissa made the mission impossible…

_Damn it! We shouldn't even be here right now! This is all Uma's fault! If she hadn't come along… _

"What…are you…?" Ivy whispered, shakily crawling forward and gazing up at the triumphant Abigail. Her eyes kept flickering from the red-headed savior to Perce's body, poisoned and discarded upon the floor. Abigail, wiping her lips dry and breathing raggedly, fell to her knees and turned to face her goddess. She exalted herself before Ivy, bowing with her arms stretched forward, her eyes closed in submission.

"I am your warrior," Abigail told her, blinking back her tears. Her voice shook with happiness. "Yes, I am your sword where your hand is stayed. I am your avenger and rescuer." She dared a look into the goddess's shining, green, beautiful eyes. "I am your worshipper."

Ivy was stunned, sitting back and staring out of disbelief and awe. She had forgotten the bruises, and the cuts, and the blood that flowed from her. This young woman had just murdered Perce in front of her. This young woman had just-

"Did you kiss him? Is that what you just did?" Ivy whispered, not able to comprehend evident truth. Abigail smiled, still blinking back heavy tears.

"Yes," she gasped. "Nyrox poisoning… I developed it… I followed in your ways, goddess! I studied your methods. I studied your lifestyle, and your presentation! I… became Poison Ivy in your place… I could not let the mammals of Gotham…no, the mammals of the entire planet…sleep one more night, knowing that you were behind bars! You're Mother Nature! You're Eden! You belong out there, pruning this world of its filthy mammals! I slaughtered for you. I killed so many mammals for you! All for you…all for you…" She fell forward and clawed at the dirt. "And I enjoyed it," she whispered. "I enjoy taking their lives. It was sexual! It was empowering! It was erotic! Are you proud of me!?"

"Proud?" Ivy whispered, blinking rapidly. "I…I don't know what to…Oh…" Realization suddenly hit her:

_Dear Poison Ivy,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I can't tell you how difficult it was, getting the proper names to ensure that this reaches you safely. I had to bribe the right guys, and bribery doesn't always involve money, if you know what I mean. It is my dear hope that this letter reaches you unopened, but in the case that someone does peek, I will already have left Gotham City, and begun the Movement._

_I write to you now, Poison Ivy, to tell you this: I love you. I love you so very much. Quite psychologically speaking, I am obsessed with you. I've dyed my hair to match your red, it used to be blonde. I've also taken to wearing green contacts, as blue hardly seems fitting for your successor. Yes, that's right. I want you to know how much I admired your work. The day that truly got to me was when you displayed that so very beautiful video on GCN. The poisonings, the necrophilia, the ambitions, and the confidence… it's all so very arousing. I myself love nature, and I love chemistry. In fact, it's my major in college at the moment._

_Used to, when we were kids, we were asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Well, I have my answer at last: I want to be you, Poison Ivy. I'll take on your name for myself, and I will continue your work. The work of Mother Nature should never end. I will poison men in your name, and I will do my best to revive your studies into botany. I will strive to be a true successor. I've already killed people. My college professor, along with a few boys at my school… and I even strung their bodies up, just like you did on TV! Isn't that cool!? It was scary at first, but then, it started to become REALLY fun, lol. 3_

_I like, totally am going to become Poison Ivy, and I'm going to go on a massive killing spree, just like you. I've already dealt with my parents, as well, as they won't be able to interfere. I truly love you, and I truly admire you, Ivy. I hope that in time, I can come to live up to your unholy name. They may have your physical body locked away in Arkham, but your spirit shall live on inside of me. I am going to make you proud. I promise. I promise I will make you proud. I do, I promise._

_I promise._

_This letter will be short, but know that I shall be writing again. And soon. I am your dearest fan, your most adamant worshipper. You spoke to me in such a beautiful way, Poison Ivy. You have served us well… now, let me serve you. I will write again, sometime in the next month. I'll send some enclosed pictures of my new costume, too, I'm modeling it after you. Just know that I am here to carry on your name and legacy forever. And if I am blessed with a daughter, then she too will carry on your legacy. One day, the mammals of this Earth will be cleansed… and your paradise, your Eden, will be realized._

_I write this in love, my goddess,_

_A.R._

_P.S. =)_

"So that was you!?" Ivy whispered, trembling madly. "You…wrote that letter…to me…?"

"I did write you. Over a tear ago," Abigail sobbed. "I wanted you to know my intentions. My feelings. My transformation. I wanted you to know…you had not lost."

"So you're…A.R.?"

"Abigail Robinson," Abigail sighed, gazing lovingly into her goddess's eyes. "Your most devout worshipper."

Ivy gasped, excitedly now, her eyes widening, her teeth flashing. "Oh, my goodness… it was real. It was always going to be real. You…you were real. And your goals were real. You…you became Poison Ivy in my place."

"I murdered for you, goddess," Abigail breathed, pressing her lips against Ivy's hand. It tasted like paradise. Ivy's skin was dirty and bitter and cold. Abigail felt her heart springing inside of her chest. "So many boys…so many boys… And I brought you sacrifices, goddess…" She drug over the black mini-duffle she had carried dutifully, and now unzipped it, spilling out the contents within. Her various, collected jars rolled across the dirt before Ivy, who gazed in awe and wonder at the severed penises, eyes, noses and vials of blood that Abigail had collected, all to offer as tribute to her goddess. "For you, goddess," Abigail sighed. "For you."

Ivy picked up one of the containers, stroking the glass lovingly, eyeing the severed penis inside with hungry desire.

"Did he die in agony?" she asked her worshipper, her tone malevolent.

"Yes. They all did," Abigail swore, filled with equal, savage lust. "I ensured that your legacy survived."

"You've done so well," Ivy hissed, grinning madly. "So well! So very well! You're real!" She tossed the container aside, where it smashed upon the ground. Her fingers tenderly raised Abigail's head upward, and Ivy gazed intently into her eyes. Abigail's heart was on fire. "You are a worthy worshipper."

Abigail laughed nervously, her tears of joy and true happiness. Ivy stood up, and slowly walked over to Perce's corpse, stripping away what was left of her destroyed suit. Abigail watched in admiration as Ivy crawled over the man's body and snuggled against him, moaning as she did.

"How does it feel?" Ivy asked the dead man, fulfilling her long awaited dream of kissing the man. As her lips sucked in his, her heart exploded with triumph. Memories of Jason Woodrue's murder came to light. Her first victory, and the most important one of all. "How does it feel to be dead and forgotten, Perce, baby? To have my follower's poison rushing through your very veins? Is it everything you hoped it would be?" She was shaking hard. Abigail wanted her goddess to violate the man's body, to do the most horrible, despicable things to his corpse… and she wanted to help.

"You've come…to rescue me…?" Ivy asked her, clawing Perce's face and drawing blood.

"I have, goddess," Abigail whispered. "I have done much to prepare for your rescue from this place. My carnal manipulations ran firm and deep."

"How did you manage this?" Ivy asked her, tracing the tainted veins of Perce's face with her finger. She began to dig the man's eyes out.

"I had beautiful inspiration," Abigail replied admirably, lying down beside Perce's body as well. She began to rip tufts of his hair out. "I started my killing spree not long after your incarceration. My first victims, for a long while, were of Bludhaven. That's where I went to school. I was majoring in chemistry, and I had a long-time love for botany, like you, goddess. So much so that, as a side project, I began to study how you extracted pheromones from plants. I started researching different specimens, learning their biological abilities. I learned how to siphon."

"Which plants did you begin with?"

"The first one was a Tigress-empira. The pheromones extracted from that plant were what started my research into strengthening the procedure. I studied charts of the brain and read about its susceptibilities."

"And the poison? This poison from your lips…?"

"Nyrox-5 was a development from studies into the poisons exhumed by Radicar and Mormaiden flowers from the Arigoyn region. Getting samples of these flowers was no easy task, believe me. It took fine manipulation of Bludhaven's most valuable members. You see, the pheromone extraction was an easy enough task. Learning who was susceptible to them was another matter altogether." She stopped her barber-play and pulled out her knife. She began to carve Perce's nose away, as Ivy popped one of his eyes into her mouth. She chewed with an intense, pleasured expression upon her face. "But I overcame the trials. Using the pheromones, I seduced the president of my college and the director of botanical affairs at BSU. At first, I used them for more innocent notions: I stole money from them, used them for sex when I was feeling down… Under the influence of the pheromones, they would not refuse me. If I wanted sex, they have me sex. If I wanted money, they gave me money. They served me under the influence."

"Of course, I would vanish almost as fast as I came. The pheromones don't cause full-memory loss, but they do disorient the mind. A few bottles of their preferred drink left on the scene, and I was able to ensure that they were convinced of it all being a bad drunk dream."

"You're talented," Ivy praised. She held out a hand, her eyes on Abigail's knife. Abigail gave it to her gladly, and Ivy stabbed Perce right in the heart. Blood flew up, tainted with Abigail's poison, but Ivy, in a sexual frenzy of dark excitement, stabbed again and again, breathing harder with each strike. Abigail looked upon her goddess and desired transcendence into the woman's soul.

"You're so beautiful," she breathed.

"Yes, I am," Ivy agreed, bending down and drinking the blood from the gaping wound in his chest. Abigail watched in amazement as Ivy's own veins became tainted with the Nyrox poison. Ivy seemed to be absorbing it without any ill effects. She truly was poisonous. Pulling her head back, her face stained with blood, Ivy asked, "You began to kill in my name?"

"Over and over again," Abigail sighed passionately, gazing up at the sky dreamily. "I just couldn't stop in the end. I made the suit. My first victims were my parents. Dad was also weak against the pheromones. I seduced him with ease. But at that time, I was using a knife. My later victims would, however, feel the wrath of arsenic and, of course…your venom."

"My venom?"

"You see, I took a short trip to Gotham in those days. I studied the obituaries of your victims. I found their graves, and dug their bodies up. Your poison was still stored away in their veins. I stole their bodies away. I extracted the poison from them. And then, I used it as my ultimate weapon, reserved for only the most beautiful of victims. I was entranced by your aspirations for Eden, and I would see it restored, for you." She groveled desperately before Ivy, burning red in her fear that she could not exalt herself enough.

Ivy's dark smile was fiery. Her nails clawed at the dirt. She bit her lip hard, suddenly alive with this worshipper's words. _So I have a worshipper… and she did not even have to be forced. She's done all of this, in my name. She's gotten so much accomplished. And now she's come and opened a door for me to escape this Hell… She can be useful. _

She raised Abigail's head upward, stroking the worshipper's cheek. "I am proud of you," Ivy whispered. "You have pleased me."

Abigail's breathing intensified, and she made a sound that mixed like a laugh and a guttural hacking. Her head twisted as she bent backwards and laughed aloud.

"You hear that, world?" Abigail whispered, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. "She is proud of me."

"I am," Ivy sighed, standing tall now. Tall and alive. "I feel power in me. I feel alive. I've wandered in darkness for a year now. The things they did to me… I shall repay to Gotham ten-fold."

"And I will be your sword," Abigail plead, kissing the ground at Ivy's feet. "Let me your hidden knife, that strikes terror and misery into the souls of these mammals. Let me give you your freedom."

"Accepted," Ivy agreed, and she reached out her hand. Abigail took it in hold, pulling herself up, to where she stood equal with her goddess, alive and able. A dark understanding passed between them. Their hearts were set. "I haven't killed in so long… A girl's desperate."

"We must get you out of this place," Abigail insisted. "Now!"

"And we shall… how did you manage this?"

"I have friends, goddess. Friends who brought me here to save you. You have friends in the False Face Society."

"The False Face Society," Ivy repeated. "I see. That name sounds familiar."

"It's headed by Roman Sionis. He owns Arkham, behind the papers, you see. Almost all Arkham staff are his, you see."

Ivy's eyes flashed. "Oh really?" she whispered.

"Yes. I had to seduce him, you see, to get his help. I had to perform a great feat of murder for him to secure this rescue. It's…been kind of fear-setting."

"I see. And you regret your service?"

"Not a damn minute of it."

"Then good. I am pleased. You may escort me to your friends, then." She bent down and began to strip Perce. Abigail watched, fascinated, as Ivy removed the man's clothing, one layer at a time.

"I understand what you are doing, I think…"

She was right. Within a few minutes, Ivy had fit herself awkwardly into the man's uniform, bundling her hair up and hiding it within the confines of Perce's hat. Abigail drug the man's body into the brush, making sure to hide every inch of him beneath ivy and flowers. Ivy herself was still very beautiful, and she looked neat and secure under the guise of an Arkham guard. She removed Perce's nametag, tossing it into the brush with his corpse. His gun rested lightly in her hand.

"Are you ready to return to your victims, goddess?" Abigail asked darkly, relishing the thought of the new murders that were to come. Ivy nodded.

"Bring me before your friends and get me the hell out of this place."

"By your word, goddess."

Ivy smirked. "Don't ever call me anything, dear," she sighed. "I'll give you the name "Poison Ivy." I prefer goddess."

"That is what you are, goddess," Abigail whispered. "And I gladly take on the name of Poison Ivy for you."

A strong moment of silence passed between the two as both set their hearts on their dark purposes.

_BOOM!_

Ivy and Abigail broke away from their understanding, jerked by a sudden, violent shaking. Something had exploded in the distance. Abigail, tense and alert, readied her weapon. "We have to go," she said.

Nodding, Ivy took point as the two of them sped for the greenhouse exit. Heximal and his gang had grouped up outside, waiting for them. Heximal looked as if he had been about to enter the greenhouse.

"This her, then?" Heximal asked frantically, only giving Ivy a quick glance. "We gotta get out of here now. It's the Bat."

"What!?" Ivy hissed, stepping forward and grabbing the front of his shirt. He looked at her oddly. "What do you mean!?"

"He just flew over the asylum. He's got a jet and-"

_BOOM_! The floor shook again, this time more violently, and far off, in the distance down the way, the ceiling caved in. Huge chunks of rock crashed down into the corridor. Ivy gasped, backing away several feet. "No," she whimpered, green tears suddenly feeling her eyes. "No, no, no, no…"

Abigail stood in front of her, aiming her gun in the direction of the ceiling hole, Heximal and his guard doing the same.

"Stay behind me, goddess," Abigail hissed. "We'll not let him get you."

"We have to run for it," one of Heximal's men said frantically. "Now!"

"I'm with him!" Ivy agreed. "Let's go now…"

But suddenly, a dark shape landed in the middle of the hall, flying in fast and landing just as quickly. Abigail was suddenly aware of something small and fast flying right at them, the dark figure throwing it with accurate steadiness.

"Damn it!" Heximal screamed, jumping to his left. Abigail forced Ivy against the wall. The batarang came close to hitting her in the head, just barely grazing her from behind. She felt the wind of it whip at her hard. Ivy was shaking in terror, her eyes bulging.

In the middle of the corridor…there he stood. He was as dark and terrible as Abigail remembered him being. Clad all in black, the Bat rose steadily, glaring at them from behind his dark mask.

"That's far enough," he warned in a gruff voice, coming forward.

"Is it!?" Abigail hissed, twisting around and aiming her gun. She fired off a shot too early, though, and it missed him by several feet. Her hand was shaking hard. Heximal, swearing, jumped forward, screaming, "Fuck it… attack!"

He and his men took aim. The Bat moved fast, rolling forward as Heximal and his guard opened fire. Abigail did not hesitate to move. She grabbed Ivy by the hand and bolted in the opposite direction, leaving Heximal to distract the Bat. Batman straightened himself from his roll, and in his hand he held a small, metal, disc-shaped gun. He pulled the trigger, aiming it at the three men.

"Fuck you!" Heximal screamed, aiming at Batman's head and pulling the trigger. His gun did nothing. From either side of him, his guards were pulling their own triggers. Nothing was happening. Heximal caught the dark smile on Batman's face, who stood up straight, still aiming the disc-like gun at them. Suddenly, Heximal felt something shake inside of his gun. She desperately pulled at the trigger, but his gun was hopelessly jammed.

"Copper's expanded," said Batman. "My apologies." He pocketed the disc-gun and surged forward. Heximal, swearing loudly again, turned on his heel and fled. Batman's fist collided with one of Heximal's guards, bringing him down almost at once. The other threw a desperate punch at him, but Batman caught it in hand. The man was slow. Not releasing the man's hand, he raised his arm up and forced him down, bringing the attacker to his knees. The man began to sweat badly, shaking. "Go to sleep," Batman said quietly, before he raised his knee and slammed the end of his boot into the man's face. The thug went flying, hitting the wall hard as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Batman turned. Heximal was vanishing around the distant corner. He had seen Ivy, though. He could not let her escape.

The Dark Knight would hunt her down. The both of them.


End file.
